


The Fallout

by whitewolfbumble



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Amputation, Angst, Angst and Romance, Badass Reader, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), F/M, Falling In Love, Hydra (Marvel), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Language, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Missions Gone Wrong, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 157,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfbumble/pseuds/whitewolfbumble
Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves! The action picks up in the chapter titled "Old Friends" so brace yourself!

They had found you some time ago. To be specific about it, Steve had found you some time ago. It felt like another lifetime to you now. But you tried not to keep track of the amount of lifetimes you felt you’d lived.

Back in those days the Avengers would catch wind of something about to go down, but time and time again you would beat them to the punch, as it were.

They would show up just as you left, expecting to find an enemy to take down or situation to get under control. But they would instead discover a group of enemies roped together (usually unconscious and somewhat undamaged) and the day saved. You had tried to put the killing behind you… as much as the gangs and groups you tracked down would allow.

The Team would show up and you would vanish, leaving only the whispers of any onlookers who caught a glimpse of you. Tearing apart buildings and bodies was never much of a public activity of yours, but whispers followed your wake nonetheless.

There weren’t any civilian casualties to your missions so you were never high on any official watch list. Just a ghost that went from city to city, popping up in one country then the next, somehow knowing where the trouble would be. Often just before the Avengers knew it and always just enough time to get it done yourself before they flew in.

It was a game you had played for quite a while.

But Steve knew what this looked like. He understood who could train someone to do this, with the stealth, boldness, and efficiency like you did. He had said as much when he finally caught you.

_"How long were you with them?”_

_There was no real condemnation in his voice surprisingly, but understandingly. It was the first time you had met the infamous boy scout face to face. You figured he would be a self-righteous prick but, like all that met him, that notion was quickly dispelled._

_You had wanted to distrust him more than you inherently did, like you did everyone. Even when you lined up side-by-side the destruction and bloodshed you had caused lately versus the kind yet firm voice of Steve Rogers, something didn’t add up. There was another variable that made him a little softer than expected, you just didn’t know what yet._

_“You would’ve read my file. Guess,” you said, not exactly unkind._

_Maybe it was a combination of his kind eyes and voice that prompted your invitation for him to pry deeper. Why ever you said that to him, you didn’t know. You decided in a moment that you didn’t want a gentle man like him to look too far into your past after all._

_He thought briefly nodding slightly as he took your advice and began to take a crack at it. “Not all of them had pictures–”_

_“You’re right. The_ worst _of their experiments didn’t.”_

You figured out later what it meant for Steve to find you. You were a step to something greater. You didn’t take offense to it, on the contrary; you joined in, firm and resolute when he told you why you were so important. And after years that would hopefully be coming to fruition today.

“Keep sharp, they’re not going to be far behind,” said the voice in your earpiece.

“Understood,” you whispered back. A heavy slam followed your words. 

Entering the small apartment with a heavy kick to the wood door, you didn’t stop to look around or search for anyone. The only movement was the cloud of dust brushing up around you when the door hit the wall. You knew no one would be here, your recon earlier proving this specific unit was abandoned.

Special forces weren’t going to be exactly _gentle_ in this situation but they would be a lot slower than you. You also needed to be a lot more subtle than them too.

Subtle being relative, you noted as you kicked in the back door, a gust of cool air flooding you and the stale space.

The musty little apartment you were in had been abandoned like most in the decrepit building, offering a perfecting “jumping off poing” as it were.

This place was perfect for someone lying low, you noted, appreciating how smart a move this was for the man you were after.

“I’m about to enter the apartment, I’ll confirm once I’m in,” you said, hushed. “Or you’ll hear a big metal _fist_ hitting my face and the cracking bones will tell you.”

“Please,” Sam started, flying somewhere above you as you gauged the balcony one floor below you and one to the left. “Like he could possibly get a shot at you, even if he was in there. And that would mean you were wrong about him being gone. For the record, also not happening. I’d stake my wings on it.”

“Yeah, except that is _exactly_ how you would want your apartment to appear if you were actually there,” you said, looping and securing your grappling device onto the railing then to the back of your belt.

You slipped on your gloves: jagged metal on your knuckles but a gripping ribbed plastic on the fingers and palms.

“You’ve got this, Y/N,” Steve said on the comm line, somewhere below you. You pulled yourself up on the railing crouching and keeping low, steadying yourself in the slight wind. The fourteen stories between you and ground didn’t factor into your mind at all, eyes and mind focused. “We’re here as back up. This is only recon. We only need confirmation for now.“

“Is that how you stayed alive all these years?” Sam questioned, ignoring Steve. “Paranoia dialed up?”

You still stayed fixed on the balcony you intended to leap too, muscles tensing as you readied yourself.

“Probably,” you said before throwing yourself off of the ledge.

A rush of cold wind whipped your face and whizzed in your ears, the sudden feeling of falling fast lurching your stomach into your throat. Arms out, you grasped on to the metal railing of the intended balcony with a bone-jarring thud and used your soaring momentum to throw your body head first over it, flipping in one smooth motion and rolling to your feet. You ended up in a crouched position on the balcony floor, with the feeling of your stomach now at your feet before it snapped back in place.

Immediately you pressed yourself to the side of the balcony, flush against the cold, rough brick. Silently you pulled your gun out and stood up, unlatching the safety line from your belt. Looking through the small back door window into the apartment you saw the curtains somewhat drawn, leaving the interior dimly lit with a soft orange glow.

Exactly how you would have left it.

Getting in wasn’t a problem- most places couldn’t keep you _out_ no matter how hard they tried- and certainly not a 50-year-old rusty porch door in Bucharest.

Whisper quiet you walked in, measured footsteps grounded and stable like you were waiting for a shadow to leap out and kick your legs out from under you at any moment.

You weren’t nervous, not really, it was more habit than anything. Or maybe experience was a better word for it. People dropping out of the shadows to try and kill you was all too habitual for you. Or it used to be anyways. But old habits die hard.

You made quick work of the tiny interior. Nothing in any rooms, no one to be found. ”I’m in. All clear.”

The dark apartment was dingy and homey. Soft light bleared through the old tattered curtains, lighting up small patches of the equally old space in a dusty haze. A mismatch of outdated paint and yellowed wallpaper lined the creaky, cramped apartment. Everything was basic and old and used. Little food, no real clothes, a tattered blanket on a threadbare mattress. It was lived in, with the worn look of memories rotting every inch of it.

You immediately liked it, in a sad kind of way. This would be a place you would pick too. A place you felt you deserved. Dated and forgotten.

You made your way back the door again to start your search and stopped in the kitchen first. Your mission was not to find the owner necessarily, but to confirm the intel was correct that this was his place.

You picked up a small brown notebook off of the top of the low fridge. Carefully you turned it over before gently opening the pages. Small cramped writing was within, sometimes long continuous blocks of words filled page upon page, sometimes short little pieces only a couple lines each were here and there. Small little coloured stickers stuck to some of the pages, obviously there to keep track of something of significance. You turned to a red one, part way through the book.

_“…Coney Island Cyclone six times. We got sick but were laughing right after for some reason. The girls had left us after the third time around…”_

_Memories_ , you thought to yourself. This was a book of memories.

“Y/N?” Steve said while you kept reading.

“The intel was right, this is his place,” you said in a whisper.

“Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” you said, holding the open notebook in your hand. “I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“For what? We don’t have long. If it’s his place he’ll be close and we have to find him before the German Special Forces are on his trail.”

You turned over a few more pages, fingers and eyes trailing down the small little words.

“Then you should go,” you whispered. “I need to follow up with a few things here.” 

“Y/N, you’re our best way of tracking him, I need—”

“I haven’t… secured the area,” you said, not really any truth to that. “I need to make sure there aren’t any… traps for unwanted visitors. Particularly if the police decide to knock on the door.”

You shrugged to no one, making up some excuse to stay put. You knew he would be back, and you knew this whole mission wouldn’t work if the team overwhelmed him.

“Alright,” Steve agreed after a moment. “Sam will keep an eye above. Y/N, update me immediately if anything happens.” 

You nodded in acknowledgment.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, agreed,” you sighed slightly. Somethings go without saying, just not on this team.

You continued to stay motionless in the kitchen, reading the little booklet that was left behind. You knew he would come back for it. This was precious. You only write down memories for a limited number of reasons. He wouldn’t leave this unattended long.

You didn’t tell Steve your gut instinct about this as you didn’t want to get his hopes up. Really, very few of the possible outcomes you could think of actually ended well. So you waited alone.

_“… stabbed in the side, throat crushed. There were two witnesses, his wife and their child, and I shot both in…”_

_“… injections in both thighs with a deep green liquid, making me convulse uncontrollably. Searing pain began from my hips to my feet. I begged them to cut off my legs but they didn’t respond. They never did. The pain didn’t stop until after the sun when down…”_

_“… train car alone, cargo carrying boxes of cheap plastic toys. It was dark and freezing and traveling somewhere in the woods…”_

_“…. and I couldn’t control it. I resisted until I blacked out but they tried again and I wasn’t able to stop it…”_

Your back had been to the front door the whole time, but you didn’t need any indication that he was there. He made no sound, and nor did you. He would’ve known you were in the apartment before he entered, just as you knew when he came in and stood behind you now.

“Head’s up, Y/N, German Special Forces approaching from the south,” came Sam’s voice.

You paused, debating on responding and interrupting the silence that now hung heavy and thick in the air.

“Understood,” you said quietly, placing the notebook back on the fridge and turned around slowly.

He stood there in front of you, your mind snapping his face into the memories you had of him. Those memories were old and worn and blurred. They still stung you white hot in your dreams sometimes, but the faces in those memories had faded over the years.

The sudden wave of remembrance bound you in like a vice, twisting and weaving pain into your muscles, sinking deeper and deeper. It was like for a brief moment you were back there, reliving them from the beginning. For a second there was such clarity to those memories that you haven’t had in decades.

But you looked beyond his face to his eyes, and the murky twisted face that usually filled your unconsciousness shifted back into its usual place, before the image of the nightmares faded from your mind completely.

His eyes were different than what you remembered. Vastly different from what you had seen all those years ago.

Deep and blue and searching your own eyes for something, he looked at you. In them there was no threat. He held your stare with his own, guarded and with a muted desperation of trying to place you.

_He didn’t remember you._

Your blurry memories had come flooding back in a second, but his had not. You weren’t a painful memory behind his eyes or written in his little brown notebook. He didn’t remember.

For some reason, you instantly felt lighter at that. The pain of your shared experiences would have weighed heavily on you both and you had been bracing yourself for it. You were relieved that it never came.

You immediately took him in, wondering about the next move. You knew yours wouldn’t be violent if you could help it. He was breathing fast, but body looked to be relaxed enough for the situation. He stood wearing a simple cap, red shirt, and brown coat. No weapon, no clenched fists, not even in a posed position ready to leap into violence. He was oddly still, obviously fighting the desire to kick into fight or flight.

He probably didn’t know why either. But you did.

“Do you know me?” you asked simply, your voice smooth and low.

His breath was still quick, you could practically smell his adrenalin mixed with that telltale super soldier heat.

“No, I don’t,” His voice was deep and growly, but it wasn’t completely sure. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“They’ve set the perimeter,” came Sam’s distant voice in your earpiece again.

“I know you’re nervous,” you said taking a small step forward. “And you have plenty of reason to be… But you know that’s not true, Bucky.”

Regardless of whether or not Bucky remembered you from his past, you were an Avenger… of sorts (or that’s at least how you thought of it). 

You weren’t shiny, or in the spotlight, or a poster child of good deeds. To the public you were quiet and dark and kept back, hood covering you up and eyes always down. Generally the populous didn’t bother you much as most were too afraid of you anyway. All for good reason.

Maybe he could ignore any semblance of memory, but not when you were face to face here. He knew from the media that you were Hydra, twisted and broken like he had been by them, and that you had escaped their death grip on your body and mind.

At any rate, he would know from the TV coverage what brought you here and could guess your allegiance.

“I wasn’t in Vienna, I don’t do that anymore,” He shook his head once, slightly, body getting tenser by the minute.

“They’re entering the building,” Sam buzzed.

“Well, the people who think you _did_ are coming here now,” Another step closer, your voice a kind warning. “And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

He nodded, understanding. Defeat was behind his eyes. And you didn’t think it was for his impending fate, but the souls that were going to try and take him down. A pang of understanding hit you.

“Smart,” he said, shifting. “Good strategy.”

Right on cue came Sam’s next warning was followed by footsteps coming from the ceiling above you. Both of your eyes broke apart from each other and shot upward for a moment.

“They’re on the roof, I’m compromised.”

Bucky turned to the right and walked towards the other side of the room, his fist now clenched and breath sighing.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Bucky.”

He sighed and you could see the defeat in him rolling through his body, uncoiling and recoiling his now posed muscles.

“It always does.”

“Thirty seconds, Y/N.”

 _Shit_. You needed more time. Your goal had been to get here and convince him he could have a life. Build new memories. And not do it alone. You weren’t convinced of your resolve until you saw him. The _real_ him. Not the one you had known or the one they had made him be.

“You don’t want to live like this anymore, do you?” you asked quickly, needing to at least try and reach him before this all went to hell. “You could have gone back to them, but you didn’t. If you still want to fight then why are you here?”

He looked up, pained and guarded. “I don’t know.”

You all but closed the distance between the both of you, walking within his metal arms’ reach.

“Because you don’t want this anymore!” you implored. “I got out Bucky, I did. You _know_ you can too. You can return to who you were. It’s possible, I’m proof of that.”

And then everything went to shit.

One grenade crashed through the small kitchen window and immediately your emotions shut down and you kicked it into high gear.

In a split second you slid back over the small kitchen bar and reached to grab frying pan off of the stove. You swooped down to scoop the grenade back out the window when another came through the window next to Bucky.

He reached down, grabbed it, and threw it at you as you swung around, knocking it back out the window with the frying pan. But just barely.

“Really? C’mon,” you said. Such a dick move.

Hearing yelling from outside and figuring you probably couldn’t reel in an ex-Hydra super soldier alone, plus fight the full force of the German Special Forces team, all while simultaneously not managing to kill _either_ party. 

Killing them would’ve been quick and easy. But this you had your doubts at.

“Steve, I have an update!” you shouted, as Bucky one-handedly threw the dining room table down the hall, blocking both the door and the soldiers looking to get in.

But two soldiers crashed through the windows and you both simultaneously punched them out in one hard blow to the face. He might have a metal arm, but you came prepared with your own brass knuckle gloves. 

The jagged metal met the face of the nearest soldier and you fought your instincts to both keep fighting him and keep fighting everyone else until they all stayed down.

You didn’t need to shout commands or tell Bucky what you were doing, you knew you both would be thinking of the same thing. Call it your shared Hydra upbringing.

You wretched open the back door just in time for the solider to come in gun first. You grabbed it hard and pulled, sending him careening forward until Bucky’s appeared beside you, his fist slamming into the soldier’s chest and sent him flying back two feet in the air and almost right off the balcony’s edge.

You reached out and grabbed Bucky, eyes wide. Did he have _any_ control in a fight? You couldn’t remember exactly when you came out of it, but even with some shared experiences and similar reflexes, you were still decidedly not the same people.

“Bucky, stop! You’re going to kill someone!” Pot calling the kettle black right there, but whatever.

“Y/N, I’ve engaged! Working my way up to you,” Shots and grunts sounded in the background of Steve’s voice.

Bucky whirled around with a metal arm crashing into your chest and slamming you down to the ground hard. For a moment his body was poised above you, his own chest heaving against yours. Again he brought his metal arm up and fist clenched he drove it down into the floor, just an inch away from your face.

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” He reached into the newly made hole in the floor, pulled out a bag and threw it clean out of the apartment to the building across the street.

And from the look in his eyes, you believed him. His eyes were endlessly deep and pained. But the pain wasn’t for himself.

Maybe he did have control.

“Alright,” you nodded, agreeing with him, just as Steve crashed in and the next wave hit the three of you full force.


	2. Out of the Water

“Shit, this was a terrible idea!” you muttered loudly, quinjet engines running louder still.

You stood at the back of the open quinjet ramp, hair whipping your face and eyes as you tried to see across to the clearing in the forest to the industrial building on the horizon. In the deep of the evening, you could just make out the white floodlights that spilled from its perimetre.

“For the last time, this wasn’t a bad idea,” Steve’s voice said back into the comm. “He knows the base; he’s been here before.”

“I’m sure he knows a lot of fucking bases!” you retorted. “It’s still a fucking terrible idea! Allow me to sum up here: he’s an ex- _Hydra_ assassin, recently recovering, that’s M.I.A. at a _Hydra_ base. Yeah, what could _possibly_ go wrong.”

You weren’t sure if you heard gunshots in the distance or in the background of Steve’s voice. Of all people, Cap had asked _you_ to stay behind. Maybe the Team considered you more of a last resort kind of member- not necessarily a big gun, more like an explosive one- but still, this was a Hydra base the Team was attacking here. Who was better qualified for this? But _no_ , let’s send the recently joined, still mending ex-Winter Soldier into the fray.

You walked back into the grounded jet and looked down at the monitors, contemplating briefly how much firepower it would take to blast everything to hell and be done with it.

“Do you remember when you first found me, how royally fucked I was?” you reminded Steve. “Take a big step back and think about this, Steve. Bucky is—”

“But he’s not _you_ , Y/N.”

“Yeah, you’re right!” you spat back to your closest friend. “And I don’t know if that’s better or if that’s _worse_! I don’t know him at all!”

“Well, I do,” he said, voice resolute.

_Goddamn it._

“You know the _man_ , Steve,” you said, trying to make him see reason here. “This is a combination of the man _and_ soldier now, and I don’t know when it comes down to it which one is going to win out. Or if neither will.”

“We’ll finish here and we’ll get him back to home base,” he said with grunts, bullets, and high pitched pinging noises now sounding off behind him. “He has you to help him now. We’ll get the real him back, I know it.”

“Yes, but I don’t know _who he is_!”

Well, you had an all too intimate idea of who he _had_ been at one point. But that didn’t justify this fantastically terrible plan now.

“I do!” he sounded.

Steve was a great man and even better friend, but he could be so damn stubborn sometimes.

Another voice cut in on another comm line at that. It was the oddly cheery voice of Tony, some fair distance away from your present location.

“Locale two is toast, kids. Let’s wrap this night up.”

“Understood Tony, we’ll meet you at home. Over and out,” The line buzzed out and you got back to the topic at hand.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “Next question, _where the hell is he, Steve_.”

Radio silence on that one.

“Thought so,” you muttered.

“Will you though?” Steve said ignoring your last remark with a voice filled with classic Cap sincerity. “Will you help him?”

From day one you knew that his question now held what he ultimately wanted. You were a piece of the puzzle in getting Bucky back. You were hope. 

Steve had been sure from moment one that you would help him, that you were the best out there to get this done and bring Bucky home. But he didn’t know the whole story, not really. You did and you hadn’t been sure until you met Bucky what your decision would be.

And you wouldn’t deny your friend the only semblance of his old life. You knew if things had been switched that he would do that same for you.

“Well, not if we can’t _find_ the man, Steve. Get this done and get back here.”

“Okay, fine. If I call you in can you wrap this up?”

You immediately turned, rolling your shoulders to loosen them at his words. You pulled your long black hood on and breathed your first relaxed breath since Steve assigned you to quinjet duty. Reaching down to your thighs you grabbed the guns that lay holstered on either side, rubber bullets at the ready.

“Took you damn long enough to call me in, Rogers. Let’s get this done.”

You hopped off the back of the quinjet and took off running towards the sounds of shouts and bullets.

“Wait!” Steve said, almost frantically. “No killing anyone!”

“That was pretty unnecessary… But understood,” you said with a smile, body shaking excitedly with anticipation of the oncoming fight.

_______

The training room of the Avengers Tower was almost pitch black, just a little of the dawn light starting to break down the inky black night sky. The soft electric blue glow from the small tech panel by the door was all that had been illuminating your surroundings.

Your fists swung out in quick succession, striking fast and hard in the same rhythmic pattern.

Two-second intervals, five punches.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

The punching bag was Steve’s and robust enough to take a beating. So that’s what you did, over and over, unyielding and unrelenting. That’s how you fought so that’s how you trained. Even if it was just you in sweats and a tank top, alone in the training room, the only one awake in the whole building. It felt like you were the only one awake in the whole city too.

You were up early (or, more to the point you hadn’t slept) and was getting in your usual exercise before the earliest of the early risers, typically Steve and Sam. You didn’t need the light and didn’t particularly want it. This was almost a daily occurrence for you and you could find your way around blindfolded. Seeing what you were doing didn’t matter; your muscles knew what to do without sight.

The dull thwack of your fist brought up the faint smell of sand and old sweat. But the warm dirty smell, the feeling of the firm plastic under your knuckles, and the exhaustion behind your eyes did nothing to keep your mind from thinking incessantly.

Thinking about _him_.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

Your mission had changed, in a way you didn’t fully understand. You were always one for planning, calculating, and preparing, but this wasn’t a mission you could have prepared for.

 _Bucky_.

He was the mission now. Or maybe priority was the better word.

It had been about a week since you had arrived back at the Tower from the latest mission, after a couple of weeks dealing with the whole Vienna fiasco. It had been an adjustment for everyone, let’s say.

You didn’t let Bucky know this explicitly, but it was fairly clear you were going to be a guiding hand for him. Twistedly enough.

You’d never push, never ask questions really. You just made yourself available.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

When Wanda sweetly bought clothes for Bucky (since he came with next to nothing) and she showed up in the kitchen with biker gang jackets and skinny chinos, you deflected and commented on how Steve had already called ahead and had F.R.I.D.A.Y. assemble what Bucky needed, including a full wardrobe. As Wanda walked away, Bucky gave you a curious, guarded look. “Yeah, that was a lie. But you should ask Steve for some stuff before she catches onto that.”

When Tony tried to scan and poke around at Bucky’s arm to supposedly improve it, Bucky about choked him to death with it. You stood there and chuckled darkly as Clint and Nat started racing from across the room. “Serves you right, Stark. Try touching his arm again and every secret snack stash of yours will disappear,” you had said and pulled Bucky’s arm gently down so Tony was on solid ground again.

When you walked outside under the guise of taking the quinjet for a spin, Vision was talking at length to a cornered Bucky about whether innocence can truly be restored if corruption was forced on an unwilling party, and you mentioned Wanda was inside watching some soap opera. “But we watch that together?” he questioned before running back into the Tower. You and Bucky had taken a silent flight together, putting some distance between him and the rest of the family you called the Avengers for a time.

But you helping him to adjust (and man, you _wished_ there had been someone on your side when you first came into the fold) was large in part the extent of your interaction so far.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

The commonality outweighed your differences really. It’s just that you both silently worked on trying your best to _forget_ most of what made you so similar. It was so incredibly hard, seeing someone that kept the shared torture of Hydra unspoken. It was in the way you walked, the way you scanned your surroundings, the way you thought and processed everything. It couldn’t be denied.

But it was also conversely so incredibly _easy_ to have someone there who wordlessly understood. Who knew the ticks and triggers and nightmares. Who you didn’t have to justify anything too or make apologies for. You were both free to simply to exist in the rare times you were actually alone together.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

It was a weird line, and you definitely weren’t expecting it. You were expecting something much different, but this is easier in some ways.

There were certain things even _you_ wouldn’t talk about. Much of the Team was thankful for that. They had read enough of your file (to different extents) to know the horrors of it.

You were fairly forthcoming about what had happened to you, to an extent. It was just a fact of your life. 

It- all of those years being pulled from an icy sleep to a fiery reality- had happened to you. That was your life for decade after decade. You were dealing with the influence of Hydra constantly, even if it looked different from the outside. You seemed more “put together” if you could call it that, but then you had also had more time to practice. And to convince yourself you were really free of them.

You had had the benefit of breaking free from Hydra yourself- probably the only one to do so and live through it at the time, you figured- and then you were on your own. It was not pretty, it was not easy.

Your mind went briefly back to those days as your fists struck out repeatedly on the punching bag.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

You always came back to those dirty and crumbly concrete walls when you thought back to those first post-Hydra days. That was all you had really. The warehouse had big holes where the wind blew in unchallenged, with you on the uppermost floor in complete isolation. It was somehow always bitterly windy, always winter, always desolate.

You stayed crouching on the floor, terrified to have anyone see you through the gaping holes or broken windows. You never once walked more than ten feet onto the road for over three years. You didn’t know how to live- you never _had_ too- as all you knew was being held prisoner.

So you held _yourself_ prisoner there for years.

All you remembered was screaming in the night, waking up searing and terrified and covered in your own blood. You had always picked the corner to sleep that had the broken window glass strew about. It meant when your nightmares got bad and you lashed out, that you would wake yourself up, the searing pricks of pain covering your face and arms and hands and legs would eventually be enough to rouse you. It kept anyone from finding you. You were broken and in pain and alone, always.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

Bucky was still raw and still bloody and still broken in many ways. But he wasn’t alone. You thought you had started off much worse actually, but you didn’t have the benefit of patchy memories or the company of someone who had been in your shoes to help you. Or a best friend named Steve Rogers.

So if he was the priority, he would get through this. You would see to that no matter how long it took. You did not fail. And you were resolved that you would not fail him.

And that was the most shocking, unpredictable part in all this. 

Those feelings and thoughts were _not_ what you expected. You felt your fists shaking in the darkness, taut skin stretched and clammy with sweat. You had lived in your head enough this morning, you didn’t want to think about why.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

You didn’t want to think about the fact that maybe- _finally_ \- after years alone or isolated from those around you- even your friends on this team- that maybe you needed someone too.

_One two three four five. Breathe. Repeat._

* * *

 

Steve found you eventually. He was dressed in a light blue tight fitting shirt and dark sweat pants, and of course those light blue and caring eyes. He brought with him another wave of that warm sweat smell, having just finished his usual morning run on the indoor track.

“You look, rough kid,” he commented, trying to keep it light. “Did you get any sleep?”

This was along the lines of his typical morning conversation with you. He noticed- like he noticed everything, whether or not he spoke up about it- the slight bruise-coloured skin under your eyes and the sheer volume of sweat that had soaked into your clothes. 

You had been exercising in the large and now bright training a lot longer than you thought, the grey clouds covering up what would now be a fully risen sun.

In the light of a new day, it was airy and open: with mirrors lining the walls and all the state of the art equipment a gym buff could dream of, with a sparring ring and tough blue mats as flooring.

You turned around to grab a long sleeve t-shirt off the bench that lined the windows; that was your routine. Too much exposed skin made it crawl when people were around. Kind-hearted captains or no.

You didn’t speak, just shook your head, still turned away. Your brooding and reminiscing had turned your mood. You stood before him feeling more like the person you had when you walked into this place for the first time all those years ago: bitter and hurt and guarded

That wouldn’t do at all. You took several deep breaths in, pausing and rubbing your eyes.

“Sleep comes easier to some,” you said eventually, turning to him with a tense and fake smile.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down a moment. “About that...”

He looked up to you with those gentle, lamb-like eyes, his muscles tightening and fist clenching as he spoke. Immediately you worked to relax your own muscles as your mind reflexively screamed that he was going to start a fight and was instantly gearing up to fight back.

He wouldn’t, as he was _emotionally_ tense and not tensing up for a fight obviously. But after so long of being trained to, your body reacted automatically. Your “flight” response was pretty well non-existent and your “fight” response _way_ over proportionate.

"He needs help, Y/N."

No need to specify who either. Not with the slightly pleading look in his eyes that battled an edge of hurt.

“Was it bad last night?” you asked quietly.

Steve just nodded, looking down again. Steve had naturally taken the dominant role in trying to help Bucky. Guessed whatever he was trying wasn’t helping much, though you hadn’t pried into it at all. 

You missed the camaraderie you and Steve had, but Bucky had been his best friend since the forties. You figured giving them some time together was best and certainly deserved.

“C’mon Steve, buck up for Bucky’s sake here,” you teased just a little, trying your best, though you were rather tired after a night of not sleeping. “I don’t think he’d appreciate being the cause for that forlornly sappy look on your face. I certainly wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” he smirked. “You’re getting to know him better than I am.”

Steve had remarked on this before, after the whole choking out Tony situation. Like you knew how Bucky was going to react and diffuse the situation before it really got dangerous. If anyone opened their eyes and was looking for the triggers, they would clearly see it too.

“No,” you countered, adamant. “I can understand the _Soldier,_ for all the obvious reasons _._  I’ve actually spent just about no real time with Bucky himself.”

Bucky the man was still an arm or two lengths away and would be until he was ready or it was desperate. You figured it would still be a while until he reached out to you. Maybe a couple weeks or months? Years? And much longer to warm to you. Just look at how long you had taken to get to this point.

Again, you must remind Bucky of Hydra and all that came with that, just like he did with you. It would take time for him to want to be around you, and that was okay.

At that thought Bucky walked in, weaving his way over to your corner. He came up a little stiffly and with the same if not deeper coloured bags under his eyes to match Steve’s. He nodded to you, keeping back somewhat, before saying a lowly murmured “hello” to Steve.

Like all the (now total of two) super soldiers in your life, Bucky was impossibly statuesque and chiseled. He had taken your advice before and was clearly wearing some of Steve’s clothes, clad in a black shirt and grey sweats. He was slightly taller and more muscular than Steve and his shirt was clinging to him for dear life, looking ready to tear apart at any moment. His loose hair was tucked behind his ears and dark stubble was on his chin. 

For a moment the forgotten sweat smell was replaced with that impossible to place spice that Bucky subtly smelled like. It made you want to bury your nose into his neck and just breathe in his skin.

Ugh, that thought made you realize just how  _deliriously_ tired you were.

The corner of your mouth pulled up a bit as his eyebrows pulled together at your appearance, eyes roaming up your body. You probably looked deliriously exhausted too. Usually that meant a mission completed and a job well done, but today you only had your raw knuckles as a reward. Bucky noticed, eyes lingering on your red and cracked hands (luckily not shaking this time around) and he opened and closed his own fist unconsciously.

You turned back to the bench where you had left your water bottle, figuring that he wanted to talk with Steve and was more than willing to silently give them space.

It was a surprise when you felt him walk up behind you. Instead of ignoring you and working out with Steve, he instead tapped you on the shoulder then took two giant steps back.

“Hey, umm…" he started awkwardly when you turned to look at him, eyes wide. "Can we talk?”

You looked past Bucky to see Steve’s blonde eyebrows shoot straight up. Immediately he turned on his heels and practically ran out of the door without another word. You huffed a little at his reaction before connecting your eyes to Bucky’s blue ones.

Steve must’ve had a heart to heart with him before approaching you. To his and now _your_ shock Bucky had taken his words seriously, whatever they were.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, waiting for him to tell you what was up.

It was several moments of stillness and silence before you said anything. Someone had too, and based on his tense body language Bucky seemed teetering on the edge of a topic he obviously wasn’t sure he wanted to approach.

“Want to spare with me?” you offered eventually, putting the water bottle down behind you and moving across the room closer to the middle of a large blue mat.

His mouth hung open slightly before shaking his head, eyes fixed on yours.

“No, I think I’m okay,” Was that smile or frown you saw trying to break through? You smiled yourself before rolling your eyes and holding up your hands, guessing immediately at why he declined.

“They aren’t _that_ bad, I’ll have you know," you said with a dark smirk on your face. The reddish shiny skin, cracked across your knuckles were a bit of a glaring reason against any more use.

“Yeah, maybe not," he said quietly. "I just figured you wouldn’t stop until you broke your fingers off, is all.”

His tone was surprisingly light for the Winter Soldier and he took in a deep breath. You felt an almost calm wave wash over you both, and decided that it had been a smile trying to get through before.

A huffy chuckle escaped before you walked back to the window, sidestepping the bench and leaned back against the glass, the city below at your back. You crossed your arms and for just a moment let yourself smile at the man in front of you.

You could’ve explained why you didn’t want your back to the door and preferred it against the window, clear line of sight to all exit points. Even in the most secure building in New York. And Bucky could’ve explained it to you when he did the same a few feet away, but he didn’t either.

Quite suddenly a storm seemed to come over Bucky, blue eyes pulling back into their depths, unreadable and distant. You waited patiently for him. He hadn’t been here long but even he was realizing how desperately he needed someone.

You grimaced a little at the thought. 

_Not a handler. Just a friend._

“I need help, Y/N…” He looked down at his crossed arms, swallowing tightly. “I need your help.”

You debated closing the distance between you. He had never asked for help from anyone here, not even Steve, yet here he was. His posture was rigid, guarded and jaw set. But he was asking.

You took a few steps closer and quieted your voice a little. He leaned back slightly, eyes watching you, carefully considering the invasion of space before looking back down as your voice betrayed only understanding. 

Weakness had not been allowed at Hydra. It was a hard lesson to unlearn.

“Than let me help you,” you said simply and kindly, thought harkening back to the first time you met. “What do you need?”

He looked down at his shoes and swallowed. “To sleep.”

That was an understatement for you both.

“How can I help you sleep?” you asked, looking at him with what you hoped was warmth. He could use more of that in his life and you could use more practice giving it.

“I need to… How do you… How can I stop the nightmares?” he ended up saying flatly, defeated.

You nodded, understanding and moved your hand unconsciously up your own arm in absent thought.

“They break you down, I know that,” you agreed. “I haven’t mastered it, obviously.”

You lifted your hands up again in a rueful demonstration, hoping to prove something to him.

He needed to be weak in a different way than he was used too. Not defeated, not helpless. He needed to be vulnerable to be able to work through this. And that was near impossible.

But in those few quiet moments you had together, you were determined to show even a little vulnerability, to give him permission to do the same. It felt viscerally like needles digging into your spine, but you still tried.

 _Come on Bucky_ , you thought, trying to urge him to take another step and open up a little more to you. Y _ou can do it, just keep going…_

You took a moment, taking in his smell and frame and nervous emotion rolling off of him before he carried on.

“I’m not…coping well.”

He turned to you, face pulled back tightly and nose crinkled, almost in pain. You hadn’t heard him in the night, on the rare nights you found yourself in your own room trying to sleep. Tony had done quite a number on the rooms to keep the sound from carrying, though he insisted that it wasn’t to encourage any “inter-team hanky-panky” with a more than cheeky wink to Clint.

“I get it,” you shrugged simply. “My dreams used to be just awful… And I wasn’t in a place like this or with people like this for that matter.”

His eyes swirled with a little bit of curiosity mixed in that guarded pain.

“Let’s leave it at that,” you said, not wanting to go through those memories for a second time that day.

He nodded quickly and looked away, swallowing, as though he had done something wrong.

“There are certain places I just don’t want to go back to too often,” you said trying to keep him from thinking you had shut him down or shut him out. “It doesn’t come back much in my dreams, more so everything that came before it. And it’s impossibly hard not to let what came before it take over.”

Admitting that was a relief.

“But you got through it?” he questioned, blue eyes subtly searching yours.

You smiled with no real humour. 

“I’ve improved. Greatly, actually,” you said. “So will you, because you’re here. Not with them, not in that world. You’ll never go back to that or to what they made you.”

Easy words to say. The team had said something similar to him, you knew. But you understood where he had been much better. You saying it had a lot more meaning.

“I was under water. Or well, I always thought of it more so as blood than water, really,” you said, being honest about it.

Your dreams sometimes consisted of you drowning in the blood of the people you had killed and eviscerated, chunks of spines and sinew floating around you, entering your mouth and nose and lungs. That dream was a good one all things considered, preferable to the darker, more painful nightmares that could plague you.

“I could never break through to the surface,” you continued pensively. “You need someone for that I think. The dead hold your ankles while you struggle. You need someone to pull your head above the water. Then you can try to get out.”

You hadn’t explained it quite like that to anyone else. Not because it was overly personal- you didn’t really think it was, just more factual to the feeling of it all- but because they wouldn’t understand. Not really.

But Bucky nodded slow, eyes fixed almost dimly on you. In that moment you wondered if he had that same dream too.

“So, you out of the… water?” He tilted his head towards you, voice low and steady. It was an honest question that you could refuse. But you didn’t.

“I’m breathing the air again. But I’m not sure I’ll ever get out.” Again, simply a fact.

“It was Steve,” you added looking at Bucky, this time with a bit of humour behind your smile. “He pulled me out all those years ago. But I don’t think it was to save me necessarily. I think he was searching for you under there.”

“Foolishly,” Bucky muttered.

“Yeah, most definitely,” you teased. “We’re a bit stubborn around here. We’ll be with you until the end of the line though, like it or not.”

* * *

 

“I just think you should talk to her,” Steve said. “To someone that understands. What are the odds that someone with shared experience would be here, now, Buck?”

Steve leaned against a small round table at the entrance of Bucky’s room, looking a bit haggard even though it was the start of the day (thanks to Bucky, though not a complaint had come from Steve’s mouth). Bucky, on the other hand, sat on the edge of the bed turned away from him, head down, exhausted and defeated and wrecked

Another sleepless night.

“She wasn’t the same,” he started, the excuse falling particularly flat. “She wasn’t an assassin like me.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure there’s a _word_ for what she was,” he agreed. “But she was there, and she got _out,_ Buck. She’s free from them and she’s living a life now. Give her a chance to help you like she helped herself.”

Admitting he needed help was next to impossible and being vulnerable to a stranger was excruciating to even consider. But he also couldn’t have this conversation with Steve for the hundredth time, and he couldn’t survive without sleep indefinitely.

He cringed as he mentally made the decision, too tired to fight it anymore.

Not long after he was down in the training room where he knew you would be at this time (if you weren’t keeping him from choking out the other team members over nothing).

You were different alright. Cool and casual, with jokes and situations sliding off of you like Bucky would never be able to do. But your anger was more intense, your need to _fight_ was more intense. Bucky had seen that first hand during your last mission at the Hydra base you near single-handedly brought down, despite both him and Steve fighting too.

There was a raging fire you kept tamed until you needed to draw on it. And it was all to clear that in the moment you enjoyed using it.

Bucky didn’t. He fought against his instincts and what he had done almost constantly. In the night it unbridled his mind and unhinged his soul. He would wake up screaming until his lungs gave out, unable to walk, unable to move, with searing pain that took over and crushed him. Like a raw nerve splayed open he would lay shivering and shrieking until dawn.

He couldn’t handle it. Steve tried to, but he needed sleep too. And besides waking him up occasionally and quietly telling him stories of the Brooklyn and Coney Island while Bucky lay there sobbing, there really wasn’t much he could do. They had tried talking through what Bucky had done to find closure, but Bucky couldn’t talk about it to Steve. He couldn’t let his image in his sole friend’s eyes change. Steve was all he had really.

So here he was.

He walked into the training room and immediately took you in as he across the room to you and Steve, his eyes roaming up and down to assess you, trying to figure out what had made _you_ of all people strong enough to deal with all of this. He noticed and lingered on your bruised and raw knuckles. He knew that feeling well, though it didn’t seem to bother you in the slightest.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky said, acknowledging him but eyes staying on you.

Physically you were shorter than he was (most people were) with sharp eyes that he knew picked up everything. Every detail, every exit, every twitch a person made, every subtle emotional shift, just like you had been taught and couldn’t unlearn.

You weren’t outwardly or overly exceptional and you weren’t a figment of his imagination. You were real and that made you the most unbelievable thing he had laid eyes on.

How could someone like you beat Hydra? Escape them? Run from them? Only to turn around and _fight_ them on your _own_? Then be emotionally stable enough to be a part of a team and actually make friends with them?

Comparing how he had been handling his pain to yours, he couldn’t believe a person like you existed. Your strength knew no equal and in that moment Bucky felt incredibly weak standing next to you.

But you quietly turned away, probably assuming he wasn’t there to talk to you. He could barely believe (or stomach it) either.

His voice failing him, Bucky walked over and hesitated a moment before tapping your shoulder. You whirled around a bit shocked and looked back over to Steve, wondering. That wasn’t surprising; you hadn’t had many conversations together and this was not a going to be a light or easy one.

“Hey, umm… can we talk?” You looked even more surprised at that.

“Yeah, of course.”

Bucky stood there, weight shifting slightly from foot to foot. How would he begin? How could he? His mind screamed at him to walk away, to deal with this himself. Weakness wasn’t something he could stomach. They had beat and burned that out of him.

This conversation hadn’t started yet and already it felt wrong.

“Want to spare with me?” you offered pleasantly, walking over to the mat and looking over to Bucky expectantly.

He couldn’t move for a second, thinking in absurdity about what you had just asked him. This person standing before him, covered in sweat after obviously having been there for untold hours, hands raw and bleeding and in pain. There you were, asking him to do something to put him at ease at a cost to you.

You were standing firm, while internally he was crumbling, and somehow instead of thinking about yourself or looking at him with that sickening look of pity or disappointment, you looked at him with acceptance.

Suddenly his body reacted, shoulders dropping and breathing coming normally again. 

_She understood. Maybe this was going to be okay._

“No, I think I’m okay.” He almost had to hold back a smile. If he had let himself smile, it would have been genuine. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time that happened. Quietly in his mind he committed this moment to memory.

A crooked smile joined your rolling eyes as you showed him your tattered knuckles.

“They aren’t that bad, I’ll have you know," you said.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Bucky somewhat agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t stop until you broke your fingers off, is all.”

After watching her fight before, he wouldn’t believe she’d give up and have a punching bag win the round. He was surprised the thing wasn’t completely eviscerated by now, even if it was just used as a distraction for her.

At that you chuckled and walked back to lean against the floor to ceiling windows that lined one expansive wall of the training room. You crossed your legs and your arms and smiled at him.

Bucky did the same (minus the smile), just several feet away. As he settled in he figured that since he had turned down your offer to distract from what Bucky wanted to talk about, he would actually have to go through and talk about it.

He was pulled back into thoughts of the nights he’d spent since he arrived, screaming and alone and dying over and over again. An icy shock spread from the base of his spine outward across his body as he locked his muscle in place and held his breath.

He just couldn’t do this anymore.

“I need help, Y/N…” he said, avoiding your gaze. "I need your help.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at you, rather down at his arms, feeling the pain contract there as his mind refused to quiet the images that haunted him nightly. He set his jaw against the pain, refusing to give in. If you could stand it all this time, so could he.

He felt, rather than saw you move a couple steps closer to him. You were probably the only stranger in years who knew who he was and didn’t immediately shy away from him. For some reason that made Bucky feel more vulnerable than he felt in a long time. He awkwardly shifted, looking up at you but not directly in your eyes.

“Than let me help you.” Your words were kind and for a moment the hope of them made the ice in his veins turn warm. “What do you need?”

He looked down at his shoes and swallowed. “To sleep.”

The request was simple really. If he could sleep he’d have the energy, have the mind to fight back everything Hydra had put in him. He could stop feeling like he was fighting the ocean with his bare hands and calm the rage within him.

“How can I help you sleep?” Your eyes were warmth personified and for a moment Bucky was floored. He was shocked that this person before him was bound up in Hydra for so long.

“I need too… How do you… “ He stumbled, not really able to put his thoughts to words as your warmth spread through him. “How can I stop the nightmares?”

His words hung lamely in the air, falling flat. You probably must think him pathetic indeed to need help with this.

But you simply nodded.

“They break you down, I know that. I haven’t mastered it, obviously.”

To that you showed him your hands yet again. A distraction, as he had guessed. He understood the gravity of it now. Bleeding hands were better than night terrors, to be sure.

He began not feel so foolish after all. But this was still out of his comfort zone.

“I’m not…coping well," he continued eventually.

The pain your understanding had quelled had erupted again full force across his whole body.

“I get it,” you shrugged quietly. “My dreams used to be just awful… And I wasn’t in a place like this or with people like this for that matter.”

Bucky looked at you suddenly curious. He had been wrapped up in himself and his healing that he hadn’t even thought about where you had started. Bucky knew you spent a while out on your own before you joined the Avengers, so where had you begun healing?

“Let’s leave it at that,” you said, voice low and final.

Bucky took it too far, he knew it. He swallowed and chastised himself. The fact that you were entertaining his pathetic pleas for help was a miracle. And then he stupidly had to pry into your history, like a complete goddamn idiot.

“There are certain places I just don’t want to go back to too often.” Your tone went back to being lighter like before, and he looked over to you, surprised at your turn.

“It doesn’t come back much in my dreams,” you continued. “More so everything that came before it. And it’s impossibly hard not to let what came before it take over.”

“But you got through it?”

You smiled wryly back with a flash of pain in your eyes.

“I’ve improved. Greatly, actually. So will you because you’re here. Not with them, not in that world. You’ll never go back to that or to what they made you."

You paused, looking distant for a moment before snapping back.

“I was under water. Or well, I always thought of it as blood more so than water really. I could never break through to the surface. You need someone for that. The dead hold your ankles while you struggle. You need someone to pull your head above the water. Then you can try to get out.”

Bucky nodded slow, eyes fixed on you, almost seeing that dream play out in your eyes. He had had ones similar, but he was always burning, wrapped in melting chains while the faces and bodies of the people he’s killed melted before him. If someone could just get the chains off he could get to the door of the furnace and set himself and everyone free. But the dream never ended like that.

“So, you’re out of the… water?”

“I’m breathing the air again,” you said, voice clear with sincerity. “But I’m not sure I’ll ever get out.”

He had figured you had mastered the past, had control over it. To hear you didn’t… was twistedly a relief.

You didn’t assume the gravity of this all, you were living it daily. You were in this with him. Somehow the person he had thought of as a pillar of strength when he walked into the room was now cracked and crumbly and trying to stay upright, just like him.

That impossibly made you even more exceptional.

“It was Steve,” you added with a small genuine smile. “He pulled me out. But I don’t think it was to save me necessarily. I think he was searching for you under there.”

“Foolishly,” Bucky whispered. If Steve couldn’t see that you were second fiddle to no one, he was blind.

“Yeah, most definitely. We’re a bit stubborn around here. We’ll be with you until the end of the line though, like it or not.”


	3. Old & Recurring Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To note, there is a forced kiss in this chapter so please don't read if that is triggering/upsetting for you.

You were deeply, to your bones exhausted. You dragged yourself to your bed over an hour ago but still, you had yet to fall asleep. 

You laid on your side, breathing slow, deep, and steady. A big black cuff was wrapped somewhat loosely around your wrist, your other hand picking at the threads. You had been thinking creatively today about what you had said to Bucky and you were surprised he didn’t ask you a play-by-play on how you coped.

And what would you have said to that? That you hadn’t coped for years, and that when you did the only solution you could think of was a band-aid and low-key torture device? 

You were relieved when you had told him that night that you didn’t have it all together and certainly didn’t know exactly what would work specifically for him. But that you would do everything and try everything you could possibly think of to help him.

He had seemed… happy? relieved? at you words inexplicably. You figured he would be upset or frustrated that you couldn’t give him the “How to Heal Post-Hydra Torture and Mutilation” manual. You still didn’t understand why he acted that way but you didn’t question it too much, at least not to him. You’d take this little miracle.

Absently, you kept on running your nails down the cuff. The cuff had its tough material worn down a bit over the years but you barely felt it now anyways. This would be a last resort for Bucky, and you wouldn’t let it get to that.

You had come up with the idea a long time ago, make-shifting something primitive in the early days before coming up with the current model.

It wrapped around your heavily scarred wrist, a few inches wide and about half an inch deep. The braided material at one time was firm and scratchy but had softened with nightly wear. A thick little rope extended out and was attached to another cuff that was tight securely around your bedpost.

Embedded inside the cuff were several sharp barbs secured deeply inside. In the night, if you were to pull or lash out- say due to a nightmare- the cuff would pull tight and barbs would slide into your wrist waking you up.

For a while you had wondered if it would kill you, cutting your artery with you bleeding out before anything could be done about it. 

When you were on your own this wasn’t too much a worry actually. If you died, you died. You were broken and alone so it wasn’t the worst outcome you could conceive of. But that mentality was short lived. You hadn’t survived Hydra and escaped them to just give up. And then you met the Avengers and again your world changed for the better.

But a version the cuff stayed with you, now with barbs too thin and small to do any real damage. You hadn’t woken up from the pricks of it in the longest time, your dreams far tamer as of late.

You sighed, dragging your free hand across your eyes. Would Steve have asked you to help Bucky if he knew- really knew- about you and how you supposedly healed from Hydra? Would Bucky? Maybe you wouldn’t have told them anyways, even if they asked outright. So the next question was should you be getting involved after all?

Your sigh turned into a full-blown groan. You may have in your life doubted your sanity and your reality, but you have never doubted your resolve. This was the mission now. You _would_ complete it. You wouldn’t fail him.

This lack of sleep was messing with you hard. 

 _Time to sleep_ , you half-pleaded half-demanded to yourself.

But your heavy lids snapped up when you heard a blood-curdling scream erupt down through the Tower halls.

* * *

 

Bleary and basically half-dead at this point, your wide eyes didn’t give you away to the few that had gathered at the end of Bucky’s hall. Like they were hesitant to go any further. The screams echoed and chilled the darkened hallway, and in the shadows the mismatched group almost looked to be huddling together at the furthest point from Bucky’s room. 

Steve and Sam were in their pajamas, Nat was in her leather mission suit, and Tony was dressed to the nines.

“I didn’t think this was a formal event,” you said above the screams, no real humour in your voice.

The others looked at you a little floored as you came up behind them, not hearing the elevator ding above the screaming chaos. 

Despite the total lack of humour in your exhausted voice, the mix of disapproving and concern filled their faces. Particularly Steve’s, as he looked from you back down the hall towards Bucky’s room as another bone-vibrating wail exploded from his room. 

“And I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing,” Tony’s rebuttal sounded, nodding to the cuff still attached to your wrist with its rope trailing along the floor. 

In your tiredness you had removed it from your bedpost but hadn’t remembered to remove it from your wrist.

“Shit, I guess you got me,” you said tersely, mouth dry. Sideswiping the joke you stepped a few feet closer to Bucky’s room. 

“Go to bed guys, I’ve got this,” you said, eyes remaining on the door at the end of the hall until Steve reached out and took your arm. 

The screams and gargles and sobs wouldn’t stop coming. It sounded agonizing, like he was being burned alive.

“Y/N, this is worse than the _worst_ I’ve seen.” Steve started, eyebrows pulled together. “I can go in… I know I asked for your help, and I know he asked you too but… I mean if you’re busy with something…”

He looked down to the cuff around your wrist. Honestly.

“Yeah, Banner and I were having a great time. But go to bed. Everyone,” you turned to look at the others. “I’m on night duty from now on so get out of here.”

“Listen man,” Sam started, his quiet voice getting all but drowned out in the noise. “You haven’t slept yourself in _days_. This is bad. Let her try.”

You turned back to Bucky’s door and waited until one by one they got onto the elevator to leave. You could practically feel Steve linger before taking the elevator with the others, the cheery ding of the closing doors the last sound from them.

Why you offered to do this you weren’t sure. Looking down to the door you suddenly felt the cold floor against your bare feet and a shiver set through you. 

You knew why. You knew exactly the pain and torture Bucky was experiencing right now. It clawed at you and made you ache so deep inside it hurt.

A second of silence took over the hall before a deafening scream pierced through you. It chilled you to your bones as you pushed down the memories that were lurking under the surface of your mind, trying to break free.

You started off suddenly quick down the hall, not necessarily running to Bucky but maybe running away from the dreams those screams brought up in your mind. The faster this could end the better.

Your hand went to on the cold knob of his door but it wouldn’t budge. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., let me in.”

Bucky wouldn’t have known to alter the security settings when he arrived, and in an emergency, members of the team had full access everywhere, including private quarters. A dull red light flashed on the security panel beside the door. That must’ve triggered the gang to show up if the screams hadn’t reached them first. Vitals are monitored by F.R.I.D.A.Y. and you would bet Bucky’s were spiking right now.

“The door is unlocked, Y/N.” said the A.I.

“Small mercies,” you muttered back.

You braced your body and mind as best you could before opening up his door.

You knew immediately why Steve didn’t run in. The pain was heart-wrenching and almost doubled you over as you entered.

The room was boiling hot and a hot puff of air slammed into you as you entered. What pushed you back a step though was the wall of sound that hit you hard across your whole body, the full force of his terror flaying across you.

Bucky was fighting fiercely, voice hoarse and body contorting wildly. His bed lay across the room against the side wall. You pushed in and close the door, standing back against it, feeling unable to move in anymore as the sound completely filled the room to the brim.

When someone woke you up from nightmares with loudness or intensity, you tended to lash out violently against them without realizing it. Hence the necessity of the cuff to wake yourself up. Gentle wakenings generally made you confused (nothing in your life had been gentle and you didn’t trust it) and then lash out violently, again reflexively.

Panicked voices pushed you into a protection or defensive type mode. If the person around you woke you up panicked, there was danger nearby. You would automatically stop and assess the danger before attacking. 

But it only worked sometimes. Minimally. Maybe Bucky was the same?

You gulped in a big breath of warm air and took a chance at this.

“Bucky, stop! You’re hurting me, please! Stop! BUCKY!” you screamed over top of his cacophony, body hunching over at the effort in your tired lungs.

He crumpled up, his long limbs snapping back to his body in a second. 

You tried again, screaming.

And again.

You took a small step from the door and yet again screamed above the din.

“Bucky, stop! _Please, help me_!”

Blue-black eyes snapped open suddenly. Bucky let out a terribly deep gasp and gargled out as if the air he was breathing was poisoning him. He coughed and sputtered, body moving up the bed to a crouched position in the corner, fists balled up and sweat dripping off of him.

Hurt and panic rolled off him in waves, and you weren’t even sure that he knew you were there. He was sputtering and it was clear by his unfocused dark eyes that reality had not quite come to him yet. But he didn’t attack either.

In with the pain there was no malice in his eyes, just terror, so you slowly approached.

“It’s me, Bucky,” you said lowly and as soothing as your hoarse voice could. “There is no danger here. There is nothing you have to fear. It was a dream. You’re back now.”

You spoke as slowly as you approached, trying not to tip the delicate equilibrium in the room off kilter. Maybe Bucky frozen in terror wasn’t ideal but at least he wasn’t actively trying to murder you.

Eventually you made it to the bed and your heart lurched. He was tattered, breath wheezing from pain or horror or both. His body shook violently, unable to stop the fallout of the dream coursing through him. 

Slowly you reached a hand to his shoulder, barely touching him.

“It’s me, Bucky," you said again softly. "I’m here to help you, remember? I’m going to help you.”

You moved from a feather-light touch to rest your palm on his blazingly hot shoulder. He cried out in pain, like the comfort of your hand was causing it.

Your arm twitched, wanting to jerk back but you held it still. Comfort wasn’t going to be painful anymore. You’d show him that.

Slowly, as to shake the bed as little as possible, you brought your leg up on it and then the other, crouching just behind him. 

“I’m here to help, you’re going to be okay Bucky. I’ve got you now.”

You didn’t detach your hand from him but moved it down across his chest to hold him from behind. He was blindingly hot and sticky with sweat, firm muscles quivering with spasms and shaking breath. 

As you placed your other hand around him he crumpled beneath you. 

“You’re falling apart,” His body twitched violently and jostled you hard but you held fast. “You are. And that’s okay, you can fall apart Bucky. I won’t let you stay broken, I’m going to hold you here until you’re okay again. I’m going to hold you together.”

That’s all you had wanted. Someone to hold you and take away the pain. 

You stayed awake, holding him and humming softly in his ear. You were terribly uncomfortable, half on top of him as he was curled somewhat beneath you. Your arms were stretched and holding him as tight as you could manage. You were aching to your bones but the pain didn’t matter. You had had worse. So you mentally gritted your teeth and held fast.

You held him and whispered to him and hummed to him until his body relaxed just slightly enough for him to sleep some few hours later.

But you stayed up. You would stay awake so that when his body convulsed or a whimper escaped his lips you could nudge him out of it with a squeeze of your arms and a hum from your lips.

When dawn appeared through the window you turned your head around and squinted out, making out a red sky and fluffy grey clouds. It was over. You both had gotten through the night. 

This would get easier. You both would make a plan that didn’t involve sleeping torture devices or stay conscious indefinitely.

Despite your intentions and all things considered, the next night went substantially worse.

* * *

Bucky was dazed and out of it when you woke him up, understandably. You had told him the basics and he only nodded tersely at it, muscles and jaw tight. Obviously not the state he ever wanted you or anyone else to see him in.

“Tonight will be better, we’ll start coming up with a plan,” you said encouragingly, shifting your weary, aching limbs off his bed.

Another nod from him. He probably wanted his space so you left it there, leaving him to his morning routine.

Somehow he turned from a tense and pained man into the normal looking blue-eyed Bucky by the time he rolled into the kitchen. You were still a fucking exhausted mess, only having enough energy to change your clothes. Steve would want an update on what happened, and you owed him at least that.

You were already in the kitchen before he arrived, filling in Steve and Nat in hushed voices on the course of the night.

“So he slept?” Nat more stated than asked, eyebrows raised a little impressed.

“Wait, you woke him up?” Steve said, more surprised than anything. He looked you over once, eyes going up and down the length of your body before shaking his head a little incredulously.

“Why is that the shock here?" you asked irritably. "Yes, I woke him up; it was morning after all and I haven’t slept in two days now. Why wouldn’t I?”

“No, no,” he shook his head, voice low. “I don’t mean today, I mean last night from the nightmare. I’ve tried when it’s been bad… He either _doesn’t_ until he wakes himself up or near kills me if I _do_ get him up.”

Both options left a bad taste in Steve’s mouth if any indication was his grimace. Steve looked you up and down again, and you guessed his gaze was checking for injury.

“Not a scratch, Cap” you half-yawned. “But I still didn’t like the way I had to do it. We’ll come up with something better.”

You got two puzzled looks at that, but Bucky walked in and you changed the subject.

“Any news on the agents that got away from the base three?” you asked Nat.

“Actually, yes. But we got this one.”

“No,” you said flatly. “Let’s hear it.”

The mission the Team had gone on a bit over a week ago was generally pretty basic, save a couple details. You, Cap, and Bucky had gone to the first base. It was a fair size but the tech was old. Good for you three seniors, as Clint had put it. Steve had insisted Bucky come, as he knew the base layout without the help of any schematics. Bad call, but whatever.

Nat, Sam, Thor, and Banner went to the second base, a positive fortress that was half on a mountainside and half-built into it. That required a fair amount of scaling and manpower.

The third was covered by Tony, Clint, Wanda, and Vision. The base was advanced, fairly recently upgraded with tech and missiles. After finding the three Hydra bases in such close proximity the Team had decided to split up and hit them all in one go.

The schematics that you didn’t have from base one, but that Nat uploaded in part from base two, detailed a patchy tunneling system spanning the distance from the base you took to the third base. It was almost 35km long. Once learning a few key dangerous Hydra players had gotten away, the next thought you had was how much forced labour went into those weaving underground tunnels. Forced and tortured labour.

The Team had been mapping the tunnels, as not everything was documented. They were old and hidden for a reason. You assumed there was another base somewhere out there that had the missing information but so far nothing had turned up. Hydra buried their secrets deep and you weren’t holding your breath that you’d find out this one. Not in time, anyway.

So the mission evolved into finding out as many exit points the tunnels had and searching the area for those missing Hydra agents. Those snakes slipped down whatever hole they entered without any trace so far.

“A fourth base. Underground, actually,” Nat stated unsurprisingly. “Three-quarters of the way between the third and second base.”

“In a mountain?” you guessed.

“Near one. Looks to be called "Vier"? Ring a bell?” You closed your eyes for a brief moment before tilting your head far enough to the side to crack it.

It was only half a name, but it was all you needed.

“Yep,” you said tersely.

Steve looked from Bucky, who was watching the three of you as he grabbed a bowl of cereal, back to your face. Your eyes and face were blank, though the tight way you clenched your jaw gave you away to your friend.

“Recommendations?” he asked, cutting to the quick.

“I would recommend you call a meeting, Steve,” you said, giving nothing else away.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said slowly, agreeing as he watched your expression darken. 

* * *

 

So your morning (or entire day) of sleeping turned into something much different.

Researching, explaining, and filling in some blanks to the Team was how you spent your time. You didn’t take charge of the assembly, but took your cues from Steve and launched into whatever blanks he asked you to fill (when you knew) or pointed out where best to find the answers.

“Hydra has bases everywhere. It’s the whole cut off the head thing," you said, gesturing abstractly. "No matter what base is destroyed, there’s already another waiting in the wings ready to go.” 

You walked over to a glass screen in the lab and pulled up the digital map of the now four bases. You pointed to the fourth one.

“What we are looking at,” you said trying not to sigh. “Is the Vier Gliedmaßen. Four connected bases- obviously Hydra- some 65km apart at most. Each base has a different… _specialty_ , I guess. One chemical research, one human imprisonment and experimentation, one tech development, and one stronghold for secrets and weapons, basically. They all work in tandem.”

Your knowledge wasn’t extensive on this to be truthful, but compared to the rest of the Team you were the expert you suposed.

“It was mostly myth, really," you said with a shrug.

“And you have entered this Vier Gliedmaßen before?” Thor questioned. His eyes flicked intently between the map and you.

“No, not exactly. But also yes. I regained consciousness in one section of the fourth base, which I stayed in until they knocked me out and we moved on. Didn’t enter into any tunnels or the other bases, that I recall. No other clues I could give here.”

“And Bucky?” Natasha asked, looking to the back of the room in his direction. Everyone followed, while Bucky eventually looked down. He took a moment to speak, considering it one last time before speaking quietly.

“I don’t think so," he said. "I recalled the other one, but can’t remember much.”

“Well, then we storm the base, apprehend the enemy, and be done with it,” Thor stated.

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” Steve took over, stepping up from the periphery of the circle of Avengers. “With these intricate tunnels, we can’t cover all of them and we don’t have the map to them, much less every exit point. If we go in there, we could get lost, stuck, or into a bad situation fast. That is even if the intel we have hasn’t be falsified.”

“Okay, tech talk time,” Tony piped up before immediately launching into some mumbo tunnel-scanning jumbo you only half registered in your tiredness.

From there the day unfolded into planning and rebuttals, mapping and dividing work. Ultimately you couldn’t know that anyone was still in that fourth base, much less the people you wanted to find. If they had any inkling that you knew of this secret base, they would be stupid to flee there.

It was already dark by the time you were able to retreat to the sanctuary of your room. Really, you didn’t have much feeling about your little space in the Tower- you not sure you could feel at “home” anywhere- but today it was a heavenly sight for your eyes to see. 

You could barely keep your emotions in check over the last couple hours and velvety comfort of your room was so well deserved. It was dark and silent and wonderful. Alone in your room you collapsed down on your bed without bothering to remove the leggings and shirt you slipped into that morning.

You were in that woozy state between awake and asleep when the screaming started.

Your hand shot up to your throat before realizing that the screams weren’t yours.

It took you a minute to pry yourself up, rubbing the sleepy pain behind your eyes for the millionth time that day before padding down to the icy floor below yours.

No one greeted you this time as the elevator doors opened, and it was quite quiet on Bucky’s floor. How kind of them to leave this to you.

But maybe they didn’t hear. Maybe there was no screaming? It wouldn’t be the first you had imagined screams that weren’t there. And you had definitely had more sleep bolstering you up in those instances.

But a blindingly sharp shriek echo down the hall and rattled your sleep-deprived brain. You thudded down the corridor, your usually quiet glide nowhere to be found.

You opened Bucky’s door and was hit with that expected bracing heat and wall of cries.

“Bucky, I’m here,” you said, voice barely above your usual volume and certainly not above the screams. 

His thrashes were more violent tonight and he jerked and strained against the nightmare. This onslaught was faster, more intense.

 _Making up for the reprieve from last night_ , you thought.

“Bucky, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” Your knees hit the edge of the bed and you shuffled down to put a hand on his shoulder…

Your instinctual reaction usually was first to the draw, followed secondly by your mind which cognitively snapped the facts into place for you. Generally, it was seamless. It meant you often physically reacted in muscle memory before your brain could process what was happening around you. So when someone came up behind you or in a fight, you reacted faster and better.

But this was now the _third_ night you hadn’t slept. Not a record for you yet, but it made you move painfully slow, reactions lagging. Bucky, on the other hand, was lightning fast and you realized a second too late, not in his right mind.

In the mass of tangled wet hair and crumpled sheets, dark eyes snapped open, angry and hard. The blue in them had practically disappeared leaving nothing but an inky dead stare. Simultaneously a big metal arm came flashing toward you with a heated yell ripping through his throat.

Your hand snapped back from his shoulder to your chest as his arm crashed into your throat and his heavy body gripped tight, pushing you breathtakingly hard several feet back against the opposite wall. 

You strained as intense eyes held your stare and a metal arm gripped both your neck and wrist now caught together, causing shooting pain but ultimately keeping you from death by throat crushing.

But the next crushing you felt was his lips crashing into yours. 

Bracing and painfully hard, you stood stock still for a moment as his body pressed into yours, lining up against your hips. It was brutally harsh and a groan sounded in your throat, Bucky’s seal around your lips not allowing so much as a sound escape. It was dominating and unrelenting and you experienced a terror rippling through your body at the stark familiarity. In a second you shut your emotions down, not having the luxury to be distracted by the pain or shock.

You wretched your head away as best you could, maneuvering slightly to bring your knee up to his groin then in quick succession your free elbow to his throat.

You had a split second before he either crushed your windpipe or slammed his body back against yours, so your body kicked into full gear. Whatever sleep you had desired a minute before was gone with a flooding of adrenalin to your system.

Knees launching up to his chest before he could close the distance, you pushed them out to give you a brief moment of space before bring them up to his chin hard. He pushed back only slightly but it gave you enough room. You had a split second to make your move before it was futile. You knew he wouldn’t give you another chance.

You used your momentum to swing your leg up to his shoulder then wrap around his neck. You grabbed your ankle with your free hand to secure him in. The swing and force of your entire body weighing on his neck drop him down enough for you to swing up your other leg up and hook it onto your shin. You were locked in, your legs much stronger than his neck by a long shot.

You threw all your weight back and to the side, slamming the both of you to ground, making sure his head hit the floor hard.

Pivoting quickly you flipped over and around, ending up basically sitting with Bucky’s head between your crossed legs. The awkward angle forced him to let go of his death grip before he could squeeze his hand and end this struggle and your life. He managed to get a hold of your ankle and yank harshly down, but you didn’t give him time to do much else. 

You saw a flash of blue in your sparring partner, but you didn’t stop until you had reached under his arm and torso, legs bracing and setting up your next move as you sent his body flying to the side behind, flipping him over. A loud crash echoed as he landed, shoulder and jaw hitting and smashing a small round table near the bedroom door.

The air hung around you buzzingly silent in your ears, no sound coming from either of you. He didn’t move, so you didn’t. Waiting uncharacteristically until you heard anything from him before reacting, you stayed still on the ground. That interaction was all in all about ten seconds but it pretty much depleted the spare reserves you had. Thank the gods for the adrenalin kick that coursed through you.

“…Y/N?” It came distant and a little forlorn. But it wasn’t the Soldiers voice, it was Bucky’s. You wondered distantly if the black eyes had turned to blue again.

“I’m here, Bucky,” you croaked out, breathless on the floor. “You’re alright now... we’re alright. ”

You tilted your head back and watched him for a second as he stood up. He looked around him, face contorted in confusion at the rubble around him, panting heavily.

“Y/N…?”

You groaned slightly, turning over onto your side before sitting up.

“Yeah, Buck,” you said, trying not to wince. "I'm still here." 

You couldn’t pinpoint anything hurting specifically yet, just a whole body stiffness at the sudden jarring interaction. Bucky looked more or less alright, save a drop of blood coming down from his temple.

“Nightmare… a bad one,” you added, with a flourish to the broken table and large indent where your spine had been thrown into the drywall.

“I… I don’t…” he sputtered, his dark locks half blocking his view as he looked around him, confusion still holding fast.

You sat up and made your way back to the bed, sitting down with one hand resting on your knee and the other on your lower back like you were ninety years old. Well, actually, considering Hydra freezing and thawing you through the years, that wasn’t far off.

“So, the mission? All the fourth base shit?” Still breathless. That was pretty pathetic. Way to look weak after a ten-second fight. “Back burner. All of it. They can figure it out. You and me, we’re going to work on this nightmare stuff. Priority one.”

He wasn’t quite there yet obviously, his eyes a beautiful deep blue, but filled with confusion and shock.

“But, you—”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, what was the last thing I said?” You really weren’t interested in repeating yourself. You needed sleep, not conversation. 

“Priority One, Y/N.” came the oddly smooth and collected voice among your panting.

“See?” you said, pointing a finger up to the ceiling.

It’s clear as you two went through the motions of getting ready for bed again, Bucky didn’t remember much of what happened. He would pause and look around confused, trying to stitch it together, face scrunched up at the effort. And whatever he remembered, it certainly wasn’t kissing you. 

You waited for him to shower and fix the sheets while you picked up the debris around the room. Besides the furniture, the worst was a broken frame with an old time-y photo of Bucky and Steve in front of a current photo Tony had snapped when the Team welcomed Bucky to his new home that first night. He had been floored that after how the mission went down the team had still thought of it.

“Y/N…” Bucky waited until you turned to him before he continued, your hands still holding the broken frame. His brown hair was wet from the shower looking almost black. It had done nearly nothing to relax him as his shoulders were slightly higher on his frame, the wet ends of his hair start to soak through his shirt.

“Thank you… And I’m sorry if I hurt you... Truly, I am.”

You turned away from him and the sincerity in his voice, using the frame in your hand as an excuse as you placed it back on the shelf.

“Forget it… Let’s just forget all of it,” you said as your hand went to your bruised lips.

And you hoped that in the light of day he would not remember. That conversation, and the conversation of _why_ you knew he had done it, was not one you were ready for.


	4. Nightmares & Memories

You hoped a little late night impromptu sparring session with a slightly crazed Bucky wouldn’t be a big deal. But it didn’t leave as unscathed as you thought.

The next day had been good actually: you both had slept through the rest of the night, Bucky didn’t remember a thing which is exactly how you wanted it, and he had agreed after some not-so-gentle prodding about being your so-called “Priority One”.

“You’re.. you’ve actually agreed to this?” Steve questioned, unbelieving. 

You were curled up on the couch in the little living room area beside the kitchen, eating Thor’s favourite chips.

“No, because I was the one that came up with it,” you countered, before nodding over to the Bucky who was rummaging around for a clean coffee mug. “He was the one to agree to it.”

“And not necessary willingly,” Bucky threw a glance over to you as he poured himself a coffee and leaned against the kitchen island.

“Please, your resolve crumbled faster than this,” A handful of chips crumbled in your fist, falling in a dusty heap beside you on the couch. Bucky responded with a slight “Oh Please” and Steve looked at you with a disapproving look.

“Ah yes,” said Thor walking in, taking a seat beside you (and right on the crumbs). He dug his hand in the bag between you both, musing. “The Coolest of Ranch… it must be quite the favourable place in Midgard.”

“I think it would be,” you noted thoughtfully, wanting to drop the conversation with Steve.

“Y/N,” Steve said sternly. “Since day one you have _never_ given up a mission or at least not incessantly _insisted_ that you take part. Now you’re saying you are going to willingly give up _this_ mission… one you know more about than anyone else here. That’s really your plan?”

“He makes a fair point, Y/N,” Bucky said, actually feigning innocence.

“What, Y/N isn’t up for the challenge?” Thor said, cheeks full of chips before teasing you. “Perhaps this battle is one too many.”

“Excuse me," you directed at Thor with mock hurt in your voice. "I thought we had a moment just there, now you go and say this? What about the Ranch?” 

Steve rolled his eyes and stood up from the edge of the armchair he had planted himself on.

“Oh, we’ll always have that. I insisted that two of the cupboards be full of them,” Thor said jovially, clearly happy with his planning. 

Between him and Tony, the snack department was clearly handled.

“Y/N, just tell me why,” Steve insisted.

“Look, let’s say for a second that I actually think this is more important than a mission. Let’s say _this_ is the mission for me now, right? You guys can handle Hydra for once. I don’t actually know that much about these bases anyway. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Steve had given you a confused look, still not understanding your words. Your personal stake in taking down Hydra could not be overstated. Yet here you were.

Until it was like something clicked in him, and he nodded to himself smiling in an unusually smug way. You pursed your lips and decided to ignore that, as those looks were never good.

“I’ll sit it out and do something that would probably piss them off more if they found out anyways," you said, while Steve's smirk stayed put. "It was always their biggest fear that I’d draw more to my cause. And know there will still be plenty of Hydra left over for me to fight when you’re done.”

The only response came from Steve was an “Alright, if you say so” as he turned away.

“Yeah yeah,” you muttered shoving another handful of chips into your mouth with along with Thor, who was smiling away to himself, munching blissfully.

* * *

 

“So can we talk?” you asked the only other soul around.

Later that morning the training room was now Team-less, as was most of the Tower. You had stubbornly insisted not to know anything about the Hydra base mission to everyone that questioned your decision. 

Which was _literally_  everyone. 

The less you knew, maybe the easier it would be to sit this one out, so you had been trying somewhat unsuccessfully to avoid them.

Steve had given you a knowing smile (and whatever it was he thought he knew, you certainly didn’t) in his full dark blue battle-ready suit on his way to what you assumed was the quinjet hanger. Your response was to flip him off with a smile.

But they had left, so you and Bucky were alone. Your time was spent with the punching bag, and his was on the track, before wandering back in here to carry on with his training routine.

You had wondered about your reaction to seeing him after all of this years again. To have him where you lived, in your life. Generally, this was all going better than you thought (mostly).

Bucky’s back stiffen at your words as he reached down to grab a rather large weight with his flesh arm. He didn’t turn to you. You sat down exhausted and sweaty on the mat, leaning against a piece of equipment, legs sprawled out in front of you leisurely.

“Brooklyn, circa teenage Bucky. The neighbourhood has changed a little,” you nodded and looked out the window. “I was over there a few months ago now with Steve… apparently, there was a tiny little street fair there sometimes you guys went too? Just down the road from you?”

A soft expression fell onto his face and it seemed to slowly fall through his body, relaxing his once stiffen posture.

“Osmand’s, actually," he supplied quietly. "It was just a small local fair. I think, anyway.”

“No, you’re right,” you encouraged as casually as you could. “Steve mentioned that one. Just a couple games and some animals, right?”

And that, essentially, was how you spent your day. 

Talking about old times and reliving favourite scenes. There was a lot of making fun of poor Steve, not that either of you took it too far in that respect, but a jab here or there at his expense was pretty fun for you both.

It was the first day in a long time you had actually spent smiling. You watched as patchy, bright memories slowly broke down the rigid man in front of you. 

Bucky infinitesimally began to the let down the hardened layers Hydra had built up through the years. You watched as you saw small glimpses of the man underneath. He would’ve been confident, easy-going, maybe a little mischevious, you thought, if those phantom outline of cocky smirks were any indication.

And that was how you decided to tackle this with him over the next several days: talk about happier memories. And if he ran out of pleasant ones you would repeat the ones he’s already told a hundred times over still, engraining them in his mind. Maybe then he would start dreaming of a place like home instead of Hydra.

When you got out and got cognizant enough to function, you had actually gone back home. Or you went to a place that you imagined your old home to be like, anyway. The real place was an ocean away from you back then.

You so had walked around for a few weeks, trying to find the right little town. Eventually, you had. You spent the entire day creating memories: sock hops in the town hall, playing tag in that school yard with your friends, imagining your mother waving at you from the kitchen window as you came home, what you would have done to your crush under that bridge, or what fashionable clothes you would’ve gotten from that little boutique.

It had filled your thoughts with pleasant ideas, and after a day of wandering through the town and those made up memories, you had slept soundly for the first time in years. It may not have been a lasting fix and it didn’t do the trick now, but it was still one beautiful shining memory you clung too. You wanted to give Bucky a little of the same in some way. You could always work through the bad stuff later.

As night approached and the sun went down, the darkening sky seemed to darken Bucky’s mood. 

You had ended up in the kitchen, the Tower still empty except for the pair of you, getting a cup of tea. Sleep would be coming soon and by his tense look and posture, he was starting to dread it.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said with a warm and encouraging smile, taking a deep sip of your mint and honey tea. “It’ll be alright.”

He looked at his cup and nodded slightly, dipping his tea bag in and out absently. God, you could practically feel the tension rolling off of him, with shoulders tense and fists beginning to clench and unclench. The man was more tightly wound than Bruce, which was saying something.

“C’mon,” you said, reaching out to grab his metal wrist as you stood and moved from the kitchen. Except he didn’t budge in the slightest, almost sending your tea careening out of your cup and onto the floor.

You turned and raised your eyebrows to him questioningly. But his eyes weren't on you but the spot where your hand was grabbing his wrist, as though the touch was somehow foreign.

It suddenly snapped into place that maybe this _was_ the first time someone had touched his arm willingly and without flinching. And at that thought you decided not to move your hand away, your grasp on his wrist staying firmly in place. His eyes moved up to yours after a drawn-out moment and watched yours unreadable, but you didn’t shy away from his look or him until he gave in.

“C’mon, Sergeant," you teased, pulling at the metal limb until he stood, shifting his weight. "March.”

You made your way back to his room, the air unfamiliarly cool compared to your last two visits. The mess had been cleaned up- Bucky had seen to it all himself- and save a missing table everything was back in its place, patched up, or replaced.

Once inside you let go of his arm and moved to dig out a big black leather box that you had noticed the night before; a record player. Off the shelf you grabbed a couple records, taking your time and reading them over carefully before putting them back in place. One caught your eye and you showed it over the shoulder to Bucky.

“Fine,” he agreed absently from the end of the bed. He was still to tense to really care about the selection.

You popped it on and let the cool twangy notes reverberate through the room before walking over to the bed. You plunked down at the head of it, grabbing a blanket and throwing it haphazardly over your legs, leaning back against the headboard.

Bucky watched you, apparently a little floored at how comfortable you were in his bed (when was the last time he _had_ a woman in his bed?). It was a moment before he scooted back and leaned against the wall at the end of the bed. He didn't reach for a blanket to cover him, just letting the smooth, familiar rhythm of the song fall across him.

Soon, in the warm glow of the room and comforting background music, conversation started to trickle and then it flowed.

He talked about a girl he couldn’t remember the name of (that probably happened a lot, you jabbed. With a jawline like _that_ you would think he’d have had a hundred girlfriends in his early years) and that they had danced to the song playing. He talked about the Coney Island rides and getting sick with Steve after riding the cyclone a dozen times.

“I don’t remember laughing so much,” he said, looking at his hands but his eyes were far away, thinking back fondly.

“After throwing up?”

“And having our dates leave without us even noticing,” he said, looking to you with that phantom outline of a smirk. it seemed to be getting a bit stronger, but you wonder if it was just a trick of the light.

Eventually, the fond look in his eyes diminished behind slowly falling eyelids. Dwelling on those pleasant summer memories of his past slowly began to lulled him slowly to sleep as quietly you watched. As he did, you tried to commit each word he said tonight to memory. He seemed to remember some things clearly and other not so much. But these memories you didn’t want him to forget.

Carefully you crawled down to where he was and gently helped his body slump down to the side, your touch on him as feather-light as possible. You gently got off the bed and covered him with the blanket you had been using, warmed from your body heat.

You turned down the volume of the record player and restarted it before leaving. Maybe with the music playing he would dream of dancing with a pretty girl at a simpler time in his life.

Exiting the room you closed the door and hesitated.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.," you asked quietly in the empty hall. "Do you know the physical signs Barnes shows while having a nightmare… Or I guess before he starts screaming from one?”

“Yes, Y/N. Would you like me to alert you when it happens?”

“Yes, please.”

* * *

It was a couple of hours later when F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted you. By the time you got down to his room, you found him tossing, face contorted in pain while the sound of the long played out record buzzing statically in the background.

You sat beside Bucky, soothing him as best you knew how, humming the tune of the record with your arm draped around his shoulder. It took about an hour, but the restlessness stopped and his breath came slowly and even again.

It was the dead of night, but you really didn’t want to make the cool trek back up to your room. You opted to stay with him, sliding off of the bed and resting your head down on the side. You put a hand up close to Bucky’s without touching it and closed your eyes, half curled on the floor. You hoped your presence was enough to keep the dreams away.

Now, his dreams were not the worst part of that night but yours certainly were. In the quiet dark space beside Bucky’s bed, you had fallen asleep. And it wasn’t blissful.

Nightmarish faces and horrible tortures filled your thoughts as your unconscious mind ran rampant. A man appeared in front of you, and you remembered his name to be Gerault. He was twice the size of you in your dream though, half of his body a mouth with sharp black teeth dripping with saliva. His frame faded into the blackness that surrounded both you, with only the howls of unseen victims echoing endlessly seeming to exist beyond him and you and the pain.

You fought and clawed and spat and raged against your attacker but every injury you inflicted immediately disappeared from him, appearing on your own skin and searing you with pain. The bottom half of your body was on fire but the top half was completely numb and frozen, and you didn’t know which was worse. You couldn’t escape any of this and time had stopped running completely. Thoughts of anything before this were completely gone. Agony and terror were all you would ever be, endlessly screaming into this void.

“Stop, I don’t want this!” you screamed, but the only sound you could hear was laughing from this large, fanged mouth of Gerault and the faceless screams of people around you. The black abyss was teaming with them, unseen and screaming above your own petrified howls for help.

You had no bearings on where you were or what was happening, as you coudn't fight, couldn't escape, couldn't do anything. It was so disorienting, and your body ached at the effort you put into grounding yourself with feeling something besides pain, fear, fire, or ice. 

“Gerault, don’t! Stop hurting me, please!”

“Y/N! Y/N!” you heard somewhere in the dark. A warm hand wrapped around your icy shoulder, burning you.

“No!" you screamed again, trying to recoil from the touch as you expected searing pain to follow. "Please!” 

There was nothing physical around you, nothing hold onto. Just emptiness and darkness and screaming and agony. It was like a coffin and an ocean enveloping you at once.

“ _Y/N!_ ”

Your eyes opened with a jolt, watery and scalding inside your skull. You reached out and began pummelling the man in front of you, hitting hard in your engrained five punch rhythmic pattern. 

You kept hitting whoever was in front of you as hard as you could until your knuckles hit something unyielding and cold that wrapped around one fist. Immediately your always-late-to-the-party flight response kicked into high gear.

Your feet kicked out, realizing you were on the ground as you fought to stand up. But the man in front of you held you with their chest to your back as you tried in vain to get away. Tight arms wrapped around you and you dropped to a hunch, pained and defeated in the vice grip. After what felt like hours in the agonizing void you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, don’t!”

Soft whispering “sshhhh” sounded from the body behind you, wrapping you in tightly as you sat on your knees, face almost to the floor. You kept struggling, weakly and futilely against the man until you recognized the voice.

“It’s alright, Y/N," came the deep timbre, humming just beside your ear. "You’re safe, I’m here. I've got you now.”

... Bucky. Oh god, it was him.

“Bucky?” you sobbed out.

Looking behind, your nose came in contact with the scratchy stubble of the man you were getting to know. You braced yourself as relief crashed over you and shut your eyes. It wasn't Gerault- laughing and taunting and hurting you- but Bucky who was holding you now. It had felt like an eternity in that nightmare, and as relief moved through you so did fear. Fear that at any moment it would somehow be back to torture and haunt you all over again. Tightly digging deeper into Bucky's neck, his arms held you fast as you tried to catch up to reality.

“I’m not going to let you go,” he said, answering you unspoken need. “I think you said you weren’t going to let me break, right? I’ll keep you together too. We’ll do that for each other, hmm?”

“Get me out,” you choked into his skin. You weren’t far enough away from it all. It was stifling and you couldn’t stand it.

You felt a hand swiftly move under your knees and felt briefly of being in the air before Bucky pulled you tightly back into him. His chest was bare and terribly hot and you clung to it. It was real and kept you mercifully grounded.

You didn’t open your eyes, but you focused your mind on what you would be seeing if they were open. The sleek white and glass hallway, steel and mirrored elevator, then your bedroom hallway.

Soon the slight echo of footsteps ceased as a door opened and you entered a quiet room. A soft fluffy mattress came up to meet you and he laid you down. 

His position on you didn’t move though, as he moved with your body to lay partially on top of you. It was crushing and warm and made it impossible for you to move, to been seen, or exposed. You were not drifting in an endless black void, exposed to pain and torture and screams of your attacker, unable to fight back lest it hurt you. You would be alright now.

You nuzzled as deeply as you could into him, riding through the waves of deep and intense panic. It soon turned to relish at the reality of your safety as demonstrated by the wrapped up bear hug was felt to your bones.

_I’m safe. He’s got me._

_He’s safe. I’ve got him._

* * *

That first morning after your first nightmare in a long time was… an experience.

You were not going to lie about it, waking up for the first time with Bucky and being positively stuck to him was: at worst grossly embarrassing and at best such a comfort like you had never experienced. 

You had slept through the rest of the night (and so did he) like the barrier he made blocked any bad dreams from entering your mind. Maybe it worked the same for him, your presence keeping his nightmares at bay.

When he cracked his eyes open he immediately started to move away and you both had groaned as your skin pulled apart, feeling like it had been glued together. 

Once he was off, his tense flustered look coupled with a flash of a memory in his panicked blue eyes actually started to make you laugh a little. A flash of surprise morphed onto Bucky’s face as he looked back you from the farthest point of the room, having retreated there.

You shimmied to the edge of bed before answering the look on his face.

“I’m just a sick person, that’s all," you said, waving it off. "My mind goes to sick places. Don’t worry about it.”

Immediately you saw Bucky’s eyes furrowing together before his eyes went wide, a new wave of anxiety hitting him.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear Y/N. I just… We just slept.” he said, voice fringed with the smallest amount of frantic imploring. 

Dazed for a moment, you tried not to laugh more at that remark.

Shit, this was awkward.

“I figured Buck. You’re not the type,” you reassured him. “I just… you pulling off me was kind like this terrible time I had like, I don't know, thirty years ago maybe?”

“Okay,” he said unsure, head tilting. You waved your arm, gesturing.

“I just mean I was really hurt- like badly hurt- on a mission?” Nothing more needed to be said about that, and you were thankful. Reliving Hydra missions were not how you usually wanted to start your day. “And there was blood and guts everywhere. I mean all over the place. I was stuck on the floor hurt, then _stuck_ on the floor, if you know what I mean.”

He understood but wasn’t quite ready to smile at what had made you laugh.

“You were too hurt to move, and then blood dried.” 

“It really is an awful memory, but I don’t know, its hard to think that a little blood ever stopped me… Is it awful that I’m laughing at it?”

“Yeah, I guess if that’s how you’re feeling… laughing is a better alternative,” he said, his lips starting to curl up in spite of himself. 

Man, you were both pretty twisted people. But stuff like this? Laughing at what you could through the sheer volume of pain? You needed it. Bucky was right, the alternative would not have been a good one.

“I’ll always be honest about how I feel. To you anyway,” you said pointedly.

The ending of that sentence fell unsaid. You wanted to add that he could do the same, to be honest about his feelings, however crazy. You didn't want him to feel silently panicked and anxious around you, retreating to the other side of the room, but talk to you about it.

“And this was awkward," you continued. "But nice. So thanks.”

You figure he got the gist of what went unsaid as his face softened with a very small lopsided smile.

* * *

 

In the light of day everything was better than the night had been. You and Bucky trained, talked about his good memories, and sat in comfortable silence together. 

You ignored the nightmare blip that cropped up, Bucky only asking you once if you were alright after being lost in thought for quite some time. You were reassuring, as it happened only occasionally (and one blip in a sea of horrors was all in all pretty good).

But it happened again that night.

It was both different in detail and the same in theme: torture and the foreign feeling of helplessness, something you definitely weren’t when you were awake. This time you were in a metal trough of sorts and your attacker was a different person, Andre.

He stood above you, your blood in his mouth and your flesh hanging from his teeth. Your wailing erupted from every pore of your body, you thrashing wildly to get out. But a heavy metal lid closed in on you, save a small, rusted opening above you. 

Andre’s face took up the entirety of the opening before a thick metal weapon came into view. You kicked and screamed and raged against the coming onslaught, his weapon slicing down and into your body lightning fast.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t get away. Deep inside you, that part that lay broken, broke again.

“Shit, just get it off!” A frantic voice sounded.

“Don’t touch her and get the fuck back. _Now,_ ” A harsh and threatening voice said. 

It was Bucky. He was here.

“Bucky?” You thought you asked but weren’t sure if the word made it out.

A sharp tug on your body moved you and you felt yourself being pulled against a warm body that smelled of spice and sweat. You knew that smell and you knew the feeling of someone pressed against you. Relief began to spread from your fingertips slowly through your body.

You were free, you were finally out. Again, the nightmare was over.

Immediately you dug yourself in as deep as possible to the person who held you.

Feeling eyes on you as your instincts kicked in, and you opened one eye slightly to see a few members of the team there, faces a little blurred. Why were they all here?

“She needs medical attention,” someone sounded, a woman.

“No, back _off_ ,” The chest below you reverberated with the threat beneath those words.

“Buck, c’mon she—”

But the air around you moved swiftly and you heard an elevator ding open, and then closed. In the small space alone the two of you were alone again.

_I’m safe. He’s got me._

_I’m safe._

* * *

A cacophony of voices sounded around you, trying to bark orders or get your attention, get you to snap out of it. Your eyes were wet with tears and unfocused, voice calling out in absolute agony.

You had this fucking wristband on, drenched in the blood that was pouring down your wrist, covering your soft skin and grey linens in the black looking liquid in the darkness. 

Bucky struggled with the stupid band, stomach on the ground and queasy, only able to process that you were hurt, you had done this to yourself, and he needed to get you out of here. Get you safe and away from everyone and everything. 

A heat wave of emotions choked him, fiery skin and breath shaking him at the sight of you like this. You had kept him sane for days, fighting off the nightmares when he was too weak to do it himself. He had even attacked you for it. 

And now he here was, unable to show you the smallest amount of kindness as payment and get this fucking thing off of you. You had done nothing but keep his head above water, and he was failing you. The only stranger to ever show him anything besides pain, ridicule, or revulsion.

His lungs and stomach burned as fiery emotions began pumping through him.

“Shit,” Tony’s voice came barking and frantic, pushing Natasha out of the way and crowding both you and him. “Just get it off!” 

“It’s tied at the top, stop working it from the cuff, it’ll be easier.” Natasha assessed quickly.

“Just cut it! Why don’t one you have a knife, you always have a knife!” 

Bucky’s stomach dropped further. Of course in the moment he needed it, he had left it, running instinctually towards your room when he heard your screams.

A deep rage sparked out of nowhere, and he tried to contain the violent shaking it caused.

“Don’t touch her and get the fuck back. _Now,_ ” Bucky’s threat was low and deeply serious. 

If it meant helping you, the one screaming in anguish before his eyes, he would snap the neck of everyone in here. With that and the look in his eyes, the group understood his threat was in fact serious.

Despite the noise of everyone speaking, you somehow heard only Bucky’s voice in the din.

“Bucky?” 

Your soft voice came out like a sob. Y/N was the unbroken one, strong and capable, letting every joke or punch or situation roll off of your back with ease. But that pitiful little cry cut deeply through Bucky’s crafted outwardly steely persona to his core, far worse than even your screams had.

 _I’m failing her, and she knows it,_ he thought. 

Your voice in one pain-filled word had said it all.

He couldn’t wait fumbling with this thing in the darkness anymore and he grabbed the blood-slicked rope and pulled, snapping it with his metal arm. The vibration rang through the bed frame, but you lay still. 

The slack immediately loosened the wristband and he pulled it off carefully, trying to remove the barbs that sunk deep into your skin without damaging you anymore. As the blood-coated metal slid out of you, flows of blood trickled down your wrist. 

You didn’t react- you didn’t seem to be reacting to the pain of having jagged metal barbs tearing up your wrist at all- so Bucky took a small breath and tried to calm the fire that burned in him.

Scooping you up, he put a hand around your back to the side of your head, pushing you into his neck and shielding you. With the other hand under your knees, he pulled you up and into him desperately tight. You hadn’t asked him to take you away like you had last night, but Bucky obliged again nonetheless.

Just like the night before he felt your nose nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Again, Bucky took another small breath, taking in the sight, smell, and feel of you. 

_She’s alright._

Bucky strode out of the room fast, unable to jostle you with how tight he was pressing you in, more so like you were moving with his body, a part of him. Instead of turning left toward the main elevator to the medical bay, Bucky turned right, towards the private floor elevator.

Immediately voices sounded behind him, trying to catch up.

“What the hell, Barnes?! She slashed her wrist, get to the fucking med bay!” Tony half yelled.

“She needs medical attention, Bucky,” Natasha agreed.

“No. _Back away from us,_ ” Another threat, as deep and cold as he could make it. Again, a flash of murder in his eyes.

“Buck, c’mon she—” Steve started.

But he was already at the elevator and inside. “I’ll deal with this.”

The team was about to rush in, but a reluctant Steve held up an arm blocking them, his face looking back to Bucky, disapproving despite his action.

Quiet and alone Bucky tried to slow his breathing so it wasn’t thumping against your head. The moment the doors had closed his blank death stare had turned to one filled with still panic.

He’s dealt with worse in the field. If this had cut your artery you would have been dead before the team got there. He looked at your wrist in the mirror and his face cringed with pain. 

“She’s never been like this.” He recalled Banner’s voice, sounding muted when Steve, Natasha, Tony, and Banner had arrived, just seconds after Bucky had punched in the door.

He had seen the scars that first or second day. Usually you stayed pretty covered up like he did, Bucky figuring a habit from living in a cold climate for all those years, but he had noticed the scars on that wrist. 

Some were old and deep, some pinker and newer. Whatever this was, you had been doing it for a while, and it was hurting you. Bucky just couldn’t think of a reason why. 

A small sputter from your crumpled frame below sounded, and though he couldn’t make it out, he responded as reassuring as he could muster.

“It’s alright, doll.” His voice was strained and tight in his throat. But as the door opened with a ding, he caught your words, slurred and out of it.

“ _I’m safe… He’s got me… ’m safe._ ”

Bucky stood stone still, unmoving, long enough for the doors to close.

* * *

For two days in a row you had now made apologies to Bucky, and now today, after the scare from last night, to the Team. 

You remembered first time waking up next to him. It was pretty awkward as you two jumped apart but had managed to laugh.

But that next morning- the morning after the Team tried to get you out of your cuff- was not as twistedly jovial. 

You woke up pressed to his frame again, this time completely covered head to foot with his hulking muscular body. Something in you ached fiercely but you waited in pseudo-unconsciousness for as long as possible until the man lying on top of you moved.

He didn’t move off of you, just stirred above you, the entirety of his not-at-all small frame barely letting you breathe.

“‘Morning,” he said feather soft in your ear. You titled your head slightly over and he lifted his head to look down at you. You were impossibly close to him and you felt your pulse quicken like it hadn’t yesterday.

“Morning… “ you said, waiting for him to make the first move to get off of you. Cue the long awkward pause. 

“Unless I’m missing something, usually this is when people get up?” you said slowly and a little taken back that he was still holding fast onto you. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

He shifted slightly, moving the side of you, but his arm lay across you, still binding you in, torso pressed to your side. It gave you a little breathing room but not much.

“Okay um, I was born? And I lived…someplace I guess, then the big bad wolf grabbed me—”

“I mean last night.” Bucky said, but without the exasperation you thought would be here. 

He looked at you, eyes not giving much away. He acted calm and patient but was completely guarded. And he wasn’t going to let you go.

“A nightmare, Bucky," you sighed. "A bad one. Or a mix of that and a reliving of the past, more accurately.”

“And your wrist?” he questioned, nodding not unkindly down to it.

You were little surprised that your wrist was now bandaged up in a clean white cloth, expertly applied. This was the ache you were feeling. You inhaled as you rolled it and you could feel Bucky jerk. You felt stitches underneath the wrapping pop and strain and you exhaled out the pain.

“It looks bad. But how it looks is not what it actually is,” you stated, and Bucky only nodded, eyes not betraying anything but that carefully crafted calm and patience. 

“When I was alone, I didn’t want to be found. And I wasn’t in a place like this. I had… other, worse methods of waking myself up. And you if you think this is bad, I’m not going to begin to get it into all that now.”

You stated that last part quickly, before the question on his face was voiced. His body settled back into place.

“This was a self-admittedly rudimentary way to wake myself up if things got too bad. I couldn’t afford to give my position away to anyone and risk Hydra finding me again. I would die before that happened. This was better.”

“But Hydra isn’t here now," he said slowly, trying to get the words to sink in. You briefly wondered if he had said that to himself before. "They can’t get you here.”

“No,” you agreed quietly. “But everyone needs sleep. The whole team has personal struggles that they have to deal with, and they don’t need mine keeping them up at night.”

That got you a frown.

“But really, I haven’t had this kind of nightmare in ages. I don’t know why it’s happening now.”

There was a beat in the conversation.

“Because of me?” Guarded eyes looked down at you. 

Ah, there it was. You glimpsed through the facade, the reason for his cool and collected eyes.

“No,” you said eyes not breaking his stare. “ _Not_ because of you. Nightmares aren’t catching, and we haven’t even gotten into war stories yet anyways. There is no way this could be you.”

You gave nothing but a firmly confident look his way as you lied right to his face, until he shifted and got up out of bed. He almost glided out, smooth movements careful not to touch you more than needed.

You followed suit but your mind was far away. 

It had been because of him, and deep down you knew it. This didn’t start on the first night he had his nightmare, but the second when he attacked you. 

_Shit._

You couldn’t tell him either. You knew you just couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry Bucky.” you said unexpectedly. For the nightmare, and for the lie.

“Nothing to be sorry for, doll,” he said with a dismissive wave as he grabbed a new shirt from the drawer.

“Doll?” you repeated, face contorting with a broad smile as his words broke your clouded thoughts. “When did that become a thing?”

He snorted in response and with his head turned away slightly you couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or not.

“Well, I’m still sorry anyway… bro?” you teased lightly. “Is that what the youths say now'adays?”

A genuine smile reached up to his eyes. Nightmares may not be catching but a rare genuine smile from Bucky Barnes certainly was. 

“Maybe I’ll stick with “doll”, but we can work on that one.”

* * *

The Team hung around that day, long after you explained to them what happened. Expressions ranged from frustrated to downright horrified. 

“Why didn’t you just get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to wake you up?” 

Shit. You had even thought of that for Bucky.

“This was just _habit_ , Bruce. Not practice,” you said, absently grabbing a small clear glass tablet while he shuffled around the lab table you were leaning against. “And it hasn’t happened in years. Not like that anyway. I didn’t think I actually needed it or any other help, I guess.”

“Ah yes,” Tony spat, popping a blueberry in his mouth as he sauntered around the counter. “The classic “ _I’m way more comfortable with a prehistoric torture device strapped to me night after night to avoid using the highly-advanced, masterfully built tech we have running through every room including my own_ ” excuse. Heard it a hundred times. Haven’t you Bruce? Gotta keep up with the kids these days.”

“Ha, ha,” you said dryly but smiled. “And I’m older than you, _Anthony_. But the cuff is gone, I promise.”

“Hate the cuff!” Clint piped up from the hall as he was walking passed the open lab door.

“Destroy that bitch,” Tony agreed.

“Alright, alright, it’s the worst and it’s gone forever," you said dramatically. "The bitch is dead, long live the queen.”

* * *

“Y/N, I think your thinking is wrong here.” Steve said. You were running in unison, strides matching perfectly. 

“Oh, is that so? Wonderful.” 

The track echoed with your voice as you ran past the windows, catching glimpses of the great city below as you curved around the track. It was like you were running circles around New York. 

“It’s only that you think Bucky is the mission. That he is the one that you have to work things through, right?” 

Both your eyes stayed straight ahead, as always, when you ran together. Sam had taken off the day before, visiting friends that returned from tour. As usual, you would sub in as a running partner with Steve for one of his two daily runs. And it wasn’t like he was going to let you use his punching bag after seeing your wrist last night anyway.

“Well Steve, that’s why I’m here isn’t? That’s why you’ve put up with me all this time, for this exact scenario. Let’s not be coy about it.”

In your peripherals you could practically see his face sour. His tone at any rate clearly stated his emotions. “You know that’s not true, Y/N. You’re my friend and have been for some time. Let’s not downplay that.”

“Alright, alright," you agreed. "So what’s wrong with thinking this is about Bucky than?”

“You think that you have to help him work through it," He spoke like he wasn't and hadn't been running for close to an hour now. "But maybe he can do the same for you.”

You were confused, face contorting a little.

“I _have_ worked through my shit. I’m not out… doing all _that,_ " you said, not wanting or needing to get into what that entailed. "Everything I used to do. A small relapse in dreams isn’t a big deal.” Your wrist throbbed at that.

Sure, you had what you called a “practiced awareness”. You knew what you were made to be and there wasn’t any hiding it (though sometimes you did temper it). The actual _trauma_ of the whole ideal you figured you were quite over. I mean you weren’t exactly cowering in an abandoned warehouse like a dying rat anymore.

“I’m only getting at the fact that maybe you just can’t work through things just the once. Maybe it’s a process that you have to work at and fight against every day. And two fighters are better than one. Everyone needs backup some time, kid.”

* * *

You looked at your door, confused. Completely off the bottom hinge, the top hinge hung for dear life onto the heavy metal frame. The handle was smashed almost clean through.

“I don’t remember destroying this lately?” you asked, head tilting.

“Was me,” Bucky muttered, stepping passed you. 

He grabbed the door, muscles flexing, and pulled the creaking mess easily loose from the frame. He stepped back and placed it against the hall wall.

“Sorry,” he added sheepishly, running a hand through his hair, assessing the damage with you.

“Well, lucky we live in a safe neighbourhood,” you offered. “My stuff should stay unstolen, doorless or no.”

* * *

That night you eyed your bed, eyes narrow and jawline set.

You were going to sleep and sleep through the night at that.

A pit formed in your stomach as you lay there, fingers roaming over the bandage where your cuff used to be. Old habits died hard and this was one you had had for a long time. But it was time to begin again, and for the better. You wanted better for Bucky than your usual tactics, so you would start by  _doing_ better for yourself too.

After maybe an hour and forty minutes of tossing under your duvet, you got up and made your way down the hall to the elevator. This was ridiculous and you were just about done.

You did question though whether this was a good idea as you stood in front of his room, but you knocked anyway. If this was a bad idea, he would tell you. And you could always use the excuse that sleeping in a room without a door was weirdly uncomfortable, which was his fault. Kind of.

Bucky answered right away, a warm glow framing him, that record you had picked before playing quietly in the background.

“I figured we’d cut out the midnight run to each other’s rooms and just start in the same place?” you said, with a shrug.

There was no real way to sugar coat what you wanted, so you didn’t. The trace bits of vulnerability and tiredness in your eyes was enough.

A few beats passed before he opened the door further, inviting you in. 

“Makes sense to me.”

* * *

He lay there, holding you closer than he’s held anything, feeling your even breath below him. His mind went back to the conversation he had had with Steve today, while you were in the lab going over what happened again to those that had missed it.

“She’s never done this before, you know,” Steve said, keeping pace with Bucky as the two of them ran side-by-side on the indoor track. Y/N had joined him in the morning, and Bucky decided to in the afternoon.

“I know, but she helping, I think," he replied. "I’ve been doing better since she said she’d help. I don’t exactly know what she’s doing, but it’s working so far.”

“No," Steve said, shaking his head as he ran. "I mean turned down a mission- turned down a fight- for someone. Anyone, actually.”

Bucky kept his eyes forward and pace even. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’ve just spent a lot of time together… days actually. Her and I are friends, and we haven’t even done that. It took a long time to crack her shell.”

They slowed down, reaching the end of the track for the twelfth time before hitting a casual walk, out of pace with each other for the first time since they started.

“Hydra has one kind of mold, Steve," Bucky said, voice tight as it always was when Hydra came up. "They force you into it. It’s shared experience, and I don’t have that with anyone else… And besides her, probably never will.”

Steve shook his head yet again. “You aren’t the same, Buck. She was not a silent assassin. You were more death and stealth, you know?"

That stung a little, but Bucky shrugged it off. Steve wouldn’t have done so purposely. And it was true after all.

“She was more… well, I don’t know how to describe it,” His words fell flat, and he looked down.

Bucky sighed, annoyed now. “I _know_ what she was to Hydra, Steve. You don’t think I’ve read up on everyone here by now?”

Steve stopped walking, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, shaking his head. 

“A lot wasn’t in the files. At least not the ones we had. Everything was buried deep, maybe not recorded. She wasn’t _handled_ the same way you were. She was more… _released_. And she remembers it all, Buck.”

“Get to the point, Rogers,” Bucky said through his teeth. 

You had worked to get passed your history, and Bucky saw it in your movement, in your voice, in your personality. You were definitively _not_ Hydra anymore. Why could the others- even Steve- not see that you were not the animal they made you anymore?

And to that point, would _he_ ever change in their eyes? Or would he always be labeled the Winter Soldier?

“Her anger is deeper, you’ve seen it," Steve said, voice lower. "Last time she was out in the field you saw her walk up without backup, without anything, and tear apart those men. She called out and invited them to take her on, Bucky. She _sang a song_ so they would find her. Since escaping Hydra that has been her life. Her desire to take them down has been unstoppable.”

“The point.”

“There’s no point here,” He stood up straight. “Just want you to understand where she’s coming from. Who she is. So you understand it’s not all… as _easy_ as things appear to come to her, you know? It’s new for her too.”

“I’ve been where she came from, Steve, and I know who she is. Can we get back running now?”

That conversation played in his head over and over while he laid there with you.

What the hell had been the point? 

Steve wasn’t telling him things he didn’t know, he was just spelling it out for Bucky. But why the hell do that? Bucky knew you had a fire and from the look you had taking down those men swiftly and easily, that you liked the fight. 

Not that Bucky would run away from one, but he would hate every minute of it, however familiar it seemed. You appeared not feel the same way about it.

And he admired that. Deeply, actually. 

You rose above what they made you. You were traumatized with the fight over and over again. But you didn’t cower from them. You stood up to them and have for years. You took the hard way to get what you wanted and you didn’t stop until you had it.

It was a little intense, he thought, remembering the look in your eyes again, but it was a type of intensity he hadn’t experienced himself. And he liked it. A slow smile formed and he shifted his head down slightly to your temple, breathing you in just a little. 

You would never let Hyrda back into your life. Bucky clicked into place that you wouldn’t let it happen to him either. You would bulldoze them into oblivion before that would happen. Like you had said that first night, he was safe with you. 

And that thought carried him safely to sleep.

* * *

It was sometime in the night where it started up again, and it was terrible.

You both clung to and pushed away Bucky in your sleep as he tried to stir you.

This time you were in a cell, crumbled wet concrete, green and dripping walls surrounded you, except for one small barred entryway that you would never be able to reach. It smelt of dirt and blood and Hydra.

“Stop, don’t!” you screamed, pain searing you. “Bucky, stop! Please Bucky, _don’t do this_!”

The room was freezing and your skin scalded where he touched you. He pressed himself against you and the pain of his metal arm crushing your shoulder, wrist, and ribcage assaulted your nerves.

“No, please stop! Don’t, _please_!” You screamed and wailed and thrashed, looking only to see a group of eyes in the dark watching you from behind those metal bars. 

You wanted to escape desperately, but not to that. Never to them.

But why couldn’t you fight? Why wasn’t your body listening to you? Where the fuck were you and what was happening?

“Y/N, wake up!” you heard in the background. Your eyes opened and there was Bucky, lying on top of you pressing impossibly close and holding you fast.

“No, don’t Bucky, please don’t!” you shrieked, wriggly desperately to get out of his grip. “Stop hurting me, please _just stop_!”

“Y/N! I’m here, it’s over, look at me!” Your frantic eyes saw him but didn’t want to look at him.

“Then let go!”

“No,” he said a few beats later, sounding stifled and pained himself. 

“Please,” you sobbed. “Don’t, please…”

He held you close and whispered in your ear for what felt like an eternity as you faded in and out of understanding- in and out of the dream Bucky and the real Bucky- until reality came creeping back.

It wasn’t real. It was over. Long over. You were at the Tower, you had escaped. It was done. Hydra didn't have you anymore.

Before this you figured there was always a possibility of these specific memories coming back full force to haunt you again. They never really left you of course, but this was different now. 

The pain was deeper, the images clearer, with weird details popping in that you had long forgotten. Usually the faces of the people were twisted in nightmarish masks with horrific teeth and childishly bright colours, which made it all the more stomach turning.

But Bucky's attack on you brought you right back to the place you thought you were past. It was so complicated your head couldn’t work it out, so you pushed it down and tried to sink back into dark oblivion.

You looked up to the man holding you steady.

“Bucky,” you breathed, relieved as you knew it was the real Bucky holding you. “It’s you again.”

“Y/N…” His voice was still stifled and tight in his throat. It took him a long time to continue. “Was I… was I the one hurting you this time?”

You closed your eyes, head still turned up to him. That memory turned nightmare happened so long ago. You remembered the happy times you have had since- fighting back, killing those who had hurt you, joining the Avengers, having friends- and where you were now, comfortable and safe and sleepy. The thoughts were so comfortable and peaceful. And you dwelled on them for a long time. You felt your body pull back slowly into unconsciousness, the feeling of his hot skin against yours fading.

“No, you wouldn’t hurt me Bucky… Not you.”

* * *

Nat wouldn’t ask pressing questions, that was why you were talking to her. Steve would have been your first choice, but he always had a way to subtly pry and try to get to the heart of the matter, in his own way. 

You had spent the morning alone collecting yourself, before apologizing to Bucky for the shock of last night. He had insisted he was sorry, but for what, he didn’t fully know and you didn’t tell him. You left him alone, trying not to think about him or the whole twisted situation you found yourself in now.

“And he’s helping, or hurting at this point?” she questioned, arms crossed in her neutral position as she stood opposite to you in an empty and sleek white hallway.

There was no leaning in her voice on what she thought one way or the other. She was facts based, not emotion based. It was quite a relief to you since you had had enough of emotions lately.

“Helping," you decided on. "I think the hurt would have been unavoidable. Two guesses as to why.”

“He was Hydra,” Nat shrugged, understanding the sentiment just not necessarily the magnitude. “He brings back what you want to leave behind.  What you _have_ left behind. There’s nothing that seems unusual about that.”

“You’re right, completely," you agreed, but she was missing some important facts that you just weren't willing to give. "It’s just… there are things I maybe _should_ be feeling that I’m not? And things I do feel that I don’t think I should.”

You had been struggling with that all morning, but didn’t have the mental or emotional space to keep dealing with it. Right now there just wasn’t a solution.

“Would the problem be solved if that someone were say, assigned to another member of the team? Clint’s getting soft and I could use another sparring partner. Thor’s also been a bit bored. Or we could go full Hulk and _really_ show the Soldier a good time.” 

Nat, in her clever, teasing way had assumed two things, which you cleared up.

“Not a problem. Just more complicated than I usually allow?" you said with a half-hearted shrug. "And not unavoidable at any rate. I knew for a long time that this- that _he_ \- was coming. And no, I don’t think moving him to someone else would be good… for anyone, really. He’s done enough sparring for a lifetime and if Banner’s mind-numbing science talk doesn’t do him in, the Hulk definitely will.”

Nat gave a look of approval which was a little out of place in your mind but like she never questioned you, you didn’t question her. It reminded you of that smug smile from Steve a few days ago though. Again, that wasn't something that you wanted to know about, so you switched the conversation.

“Talk to me about the bases, I’ve been actively avoiding it for days and need the distraction.”

“We went over a couple days ago and it was abandoned,” Something about how she said it wasn’t quite right though, the look in the redhead's eyes making your brows furrow.

“Made to look that way?” you asked.

“Or staged. Possibly," she shrugged. "Hard to tell.”

“Why do you think?”

“Could be a red herring, or distraction. We’ve _all_ been on this fo a while now, save a few keys players," she said, looking at you pointedly a moment. "A lot of Avenger power going into one thing while we wait for bigger things to tackle. Could be to get us out of the way or looking in the wrong place.”

Whatever was going on, it was unusual for Hydra. You felt a familiar fiery burn in your stomach, you hatred for them flaring up briefly.

“Their strategy isn’t my expertise—” you tried to reason.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” she interrupted with yet another pointed look.

“I know their thoughts on a more… individual fight level, I guess," you said. "On an attack level, maybe because I did a lot of the attacking, I could take a solid crack at it and nail them. But this is the higher level strategy I was never much into. If there is anything more at play here.”

“Still, knowing their mind you do have a leg up on the rest of us.”

“Still grounded, just to be clear," you pointed out. You might want to know about it, but you still didn't want to jump into it. "I’m not getting involved, just curious on what the team was up too.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to get too _involved_ now, would you,” she smirked, clearly talking about something else you couldn't quite decipher.

* * *

“He just seems… more miserable today than normal," Steve remarked, his blonde brows pulled together a little.

“Can’t blame that on nightmares, he didn’t have any. Well, not a bad one” you commented, excluding your own nightmare last night and not filling Steve in on why Bucky might be having a rough day… “He’s actually been kind of avoiding me today, so I haven’t really noticed.”

“Ahh,” Steve said, as if that explained everything.

“What do you—”

But you were interrupted by the man in question, walking in with a cup of tea it looked like. He didn’t say a word to either of you, just put the cup down on the bar and slid it across to you, before taking a step back.

Both you and Steve just looked at the hot cup of mint and honey tea in front of you, blank expressions on both of your faces. You and Steve were parked on the bar stools of the big kitchen island late in the evening. You had been there for a bit of time, and there was no way Bucky could’ve made a just-boiled cup a tea without you noticing it.

“Is it… poisoned?” you asked.

Bucky blanched once he registered that the question was serious. “No! There’s no poison in it, I promise.”

“So there’s something else in it,” Steve assumed.

“A bomb?” you questioned again, looking to Steve.

“That would get messy fast.”

“No, _not_ a bomb. It’s _tea_. Only tea. And a little honey,” Bucky responded a tinge exasperated now.

“But…” you said looking around. “We’re in the kitchen. How did you make this?”

“The lab,” Bucky said, with an eye roll. “I was in the lab, I got bored, saw the bar there which has a kettle, thought you might like tea, made the tea _without weaponizing it_ , then came down, and slid it across the counter to you.”

You stared at it before looking back to Steve, who was now hiding a smile.

Slowly you reached for it and took a small sip of the warm liquid. He had made it exactly how you like it, too.

“Uh, thanks Bucky," you said, looking between the two super soldiers. "That was thoughtful.”

“Okay, good,” Was all he said before walking out, leaving you and Steve in silence.

“I could’ve gone for some tea too actually,” Steve said in a small voice.


	5. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action starts to pick up here, so brace yourself!
> 
> This chapter contains depictions of fighting/blood/minor character death, so if you don't like reading that this isn't the fic for you. There is a threat of rape in this and a vague depiction of suicide (that is depending on how you read this, nothing is explicitly said about it, just a vague image described. More likely than not you will wonder what I mean once you've read it, but I wanted to be more safe than sorry). Moving forward, I won't reiterate any warnings before the beginning of the chapters. So please, re-read the tags and be mindful of the warnings. 
> 
> Other than that, enjoy this wild ride!!

You squinted in the sun, feeling the morning heat start to build in the air around you, breaking up the cool dawn air that was dissipating fast.

“I’m grounded. Voluntarily. He can go, but I’m not shifting my focus,” you reiterated for the fifth time that day. “It’ll give me some time alone to make a proper plan.”

It was a bit of a weird turn out all-in-all, but you stood by your words.

“Which, okay, again, makes no sense here,” Tony said walking up from behind you, ready to go with the others on the quinjet. 

Everyone had made some kind of comment as they walked onto the jet in the warm morning air, and you were relieved that he was the last of them. This was _definitely_ the last time you waved them off for a mission.

“He has a point, Y/N,” Bucky himself said. 

You and he had walked here together but he had yet to get on, hair blowing in the wind and metal arm practically blinding in the sun.

“Ah, you’re finally learning,” Tony said to Bucky. “Yes, you’re right, I _am_ in fact the smartest, most logical, and in this case certainly the rightest here.”

You rolled your eyes at the pomp and Bucky looked unimpressed.

“You were _Hydra_ ," Tony said exaggeratingly, as though you for one second of your life forgot that fact. "And this is a _Hydra_ base. You’re all over this shit normally. We can’t pry you off of this stuff.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking at him dully. “So, I join in your merry band and what? Take down the villain of this tale? And then get completely caught up in the terror of it all and lose what my focus should be. Because trust me, Hydra will _always_ be out there for me to fight. Or how about I go in, step on the Hulk's toes- thus killing us _all_ \- because there will be _six_ Avengers in _one_ teeny tiny tunnel together doing _basic_ recon?”

You stood, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, giving Tony quite the look.

“You make a decent point," he tried to counter, walking backwards towards the open jet ramp. "But we’re going to the base, not the tunnels.”

“The base is underground Tony, I didn’t forget.” you said, continuing dismissively. “But yeah, cool, have a great time. I’ll hold down our home base tonight.”

Man, this had gotten repetitive. You were glad to finally see the backside of Tony as he strolled on the quinjet with a shrug.

Bucky was the last one on the platform with you, waiting at your side for a moment. He stood there watching you with those blue eyes of his, like you were going to change your mind and follow after him. You briefly wondered if that was what he wanted you to do. But eventually with a pointed nod from you he got the drift and turned to join the Team. He didn’t say a goodbye, just nodded to you as the quinjet door closed.

You walked back to the door from the helipad, waiting as the buzzing roar from the jet sounded and in one smooth motion was airbourne, flying towards the sun and away from you and the Avengers Tower. Lingering outside you didn't so much feel the sun on your skin, but a bit of a storm inside you.

Your reasons for not going _weren’t_ stupid or insane (unlike the Team thought), just not exactly usual for you.

Guaranteed, you would have become obsessed and tried to figure out the puzzle of what was going on, as you always did with Hydra. There was certainly no love lost between you, and for a long time trying to take them down was like the air your breathed: necessary and life-giving.

Hydra was predictable to you in a lot of ways and without you being involved and seeing it first hand, you couldn’t tell what was happening. Maybe you could’ve figured it out too. But then you would have spent every waking hour pouring over everything and hitting up (as in literally fighting) old underworld organizations for intel. It would mean ignoring the outwardly frivolous time with Bucky that ultimately seemed internally fruitful. And that wouldn’t last forever so it was time to think of a plan now anyways.

But also you were a stubborn and resolute kind of person. It was the only reason why you were alive now. And you had told the Team you weren’t going, that you were out for this mission. And you couldn’t go back on your word no matter how much you wanted too.

The Team was more than capable of handling themselves anyways and you knew they would succeed. Even if it went against every fighting instinct in your body not to jump on that jet.

Gritting your teeth in resolve you shifted your focus, finally having a night to yourself which never happened. You might as well enjoy it for all it’s worth, huh?

* * *

Despite the potential activity that had popped up overnight that prompted this mission, to Bucky and the rest of the Team, the base had looked to be unused and abandoned. It had been fruitless, and certainly not worth the whole team going, just as you had pointed out earlier. 

Sam was still away, and Vision and Wanda had “separately” taken a personal leave a few days ago, each spouting some kind of see-through excuse. Even Bucky knew they were together at this point, but everyone had feigned ignorance, playing along with the facade that they knew nothing.

Clint had dropped off the Team at the Tower before leaving himself in the jet, though Bucky didn’t know where and no one asked.

It was dark, with the cool night air settling in by the time they got back. Bucky stepped off the quinjet with the rest and looked around to see if you were there to greet them as you had seen them off. 

But there was no sign of you. Maybe your resolution to stay out of the way of this mission went deeper than he figured. He thought you would even just casually want to know how it went.

Bucky wondered if you’d be frustrated that nothing happened, or frustrated if the Hydra agents were there and that you yourself weren’t there to take them down. Either way he was curious on how you would respond.

You must be curious about it. Maybe this was a demonstration to the Team how supposedly “disinterested” you were. Which was a total lie. He and everyone else could see the glint of regret that crept into your determined eyes when you adamantly refused to join in. As Bucky stepped into the calm, clean hallways of the Tower, he decided even if you weren’t here to hear about this mission, he would fill you in sometime when you were alone so the others wouldn’t know. 

After changing clothes he made his way down to the kitchen, assuming you’d be there with a cup of tea and a book.

But the kitchen was dark and quiet. He debated making you a cup again, knowing how you took your tea, but was inexplicably impatient to see you. He dismissively blamed it on this being the first day in a while both not having you near and having to deal with the team himself without you as a buffer of sorts.

Making his way to the lounge area he figured perhaps you were relaxing there. With the both of you sleeping in the same bed together (Bucky tried not to dwell on how that sounded), you had abandoned your nightly routine of training for hours until your collapsed in exhaustion. Instead, now you both trained together for most of the mornings and ended up in the kitchen or lounge at night, settling into an easy silence or quiet reminiscing. 

Walking up the glass-walled hallway Bucky noticed Steve, standing in his sweats having changed himself, unmoving. He was illuminated by a warm glow, staring through the glass wall into the room on the other side, still and silent.

“Hey, what—” Bucky said walking around to Steve’s right side before cutting himself off.

The two out-of-time men stood in front of a floor to ceiling sheet of glass. It was two thick panels of bulletproof glass with a small gap between them. If you went up to the next floor, or down to the floor below, there would be that same glass running through. It was impossibly strong, needing the structural integrity to run through a few floors.

On the other side of that impenetrable glass lay the lounge area. Low modern couches with sleek leather and slick black coffees tables were in front of the massive TV screen, over by the corner that held shelves of books, and again on the far side of the room in front of the fireplace. There were two other doors in the room, one being the bathroom door and in the far left corner a door leading up to a large private balcony. Bucky remembered questioning the presence of a tub in the lounge bathroom, Y/N explaining that Tony like to fill it with ice and champagne for special (or not so special) occasions.

The room itself was at the corner of the building and massive floor to ceiling windows lined two of the walls, showing off the glittering city lights gleaming in the dark.

And in the centre of this room was you.

You were there, on your knees with hands bound behind your back, face and eyes emotionless, barely registering the sudden appearance of Steve and Bucky. Thirteen men clad in black holding weapons surrounded you, all of them facing the two Avengers looking in motionlessly.

They had been waiting.

And immediately the fight inside Bucky that he hated erupted in his chest.

“Intruders on the fifty-third,” Steve said low, hiding well his fear. “Thirteen total, carrying weapons, holding one hostage.”

As Bucky’s eyes stayed glued to you, he could see his own faint reflection in the glass, face contorting as a sudden unexpected rush of emotions slammed into him like a ton of bricks hitting his chest. Confusion, hatred, anger, and worry pounded in in a moment, body instantly tense at the sudden onslaught.

But the sudden conflict he felt inside was the one that sent his mind reeling the most. He struggled so deeply to not immediately start breaking the glass to get you the fuck out of there. Because he knew they would shoot you before he could break through. But the looks of it, everyone staring back at them knew it too.

Tony came first, literally flying down the hall fully suited up in his latest gleaming red and gold suit. Quickly he was followed by Thor and Natasha.

“Not a Code Green, Bruce. Stay back until called,” Natasha muttered in her comm to Banner. “… No, we’ll get nowhere if the building crashes down on us.”

“What have they said?” Tony said muted, helmet sliding back smoothly, face taunted and almost twitching with anger. His eyes were locked to yours too, but just like with Bucky you didn’t so much as blink in acknowledgment. Not even a nod, just to show you were alright. All you did was stay kneeling and bound on the ground, eyes dead ahead.

A sinking feeling gripped Bucky’s throat all the down to his gut at that. You weren’t alright. This wasn’t alright.

“Not a word,” Steve said low.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y… what the hell, man?!” Tony spat out and rubbed a hand on his face.

“I don’t know, boss. Looking into it now,” she said before adding a touch quieter. “The odds for this type of interaction aren’t good.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky whispered through his teeth. Even to him he sounded strained. 

“Let the lady go and no harm will come to you,” Thor’s voice boomed to the men, lying.

One man moved forward slightly before smiling. He was standing just behind you and all eyes on the Team were immediately glued to him, sizing him up.

“Any anti-intruder spray built into those walls, Tony?” Natasha asked quietly, barely moving her mouth as her body tensed for fight.

“Everything on this floor is all but disabled," F.R.I.D.A.Y responded. "Still processing how this could happen without being warned. You won’t be able to open that door, boss.”

“No, you won’t be getting in here. Not until we’re done.” the man answered, with just a hint of an accent.

He was generally unremarkable. No defining qualities, just brown eyes, a wave to his brown and speckled grey hair. Just under six feet, voice with a pleasant quality to it. Bucky knew immediately he was the type that could disappear in a crowd with ease. His outfit was black, like that of the others, and nondescript, though he was the only one that had the balls to face them without a black mask on.

“Welcome!” he all but shouted, smiling at the group before him. “To the final conclusion to a largely drawn out story.”

_Shit._

The word "conclusion" made his stomach drop all the more.

“Steve,” Bucky said low, barely audible.

“I know,” Steve answered back, knowing what Bucky was thinking. “It’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know us,” He waved his gun towards you. “But this one does. She worked with us _closely_ for some time. But since stupidly going it alone, she’s caused us quite a bit of trouble over the years. We’ve been long overdue for a reunion.”

He squatted down behind you, eye roaming over your body. It made Bucky fume, but your eyes stayed deadpan, giving nothing at all away like you hadn’t felt an emotion in your life.

“That was the problem, no? You got to know us too well, and then you went after us, like you did so many others. We just can’t let that stand, Y/N. And we put a plan in place to put an end to it, but your fucking team had to screw that up too.”

He stood and walked around, giving you a wide berth and facing the Avengers.

“Usually she’s a last resort, I get that. She enjoys it a little too much, you know? Likes the carnage, gets off on all the blood and bone-crushing,” he said, waving his gun again. “She had to reign it in when let loose. I can admire that myself. But _c’mon guys_.”

The man gave a disapproving look to the team, making sure to catch everyone’s eye.

“She was supposed to be the expert at Hydra. She was supposed to lead this mission. We put everything in place here, all she had to do was _show up_. But no, you guys had to keep her behind, again and again. So we came to you instead.”

“So you’re Hydra,” Steve said, keeping his rage in check somewhat.

“No. But partnering with them I suppose," he said with a shrug. "It’s not a bad deal, as we’re both going to get what we want.” 

He looked down at you, smiling with hungry, bright eyes. You met his gaze but didn’t react.

But the flame in Bucky’s chest burned somehow brighter and it took every ounce in him not to break this fucking glass and snap this guy’s fucking neck where he stood.

“And your name is?”

“Call me Frenz. Y/N would fill you in more about my sorted past and the dirty little things we’ve done together, but she’s a little busy.”

“So you get Y/N, and Hydra gets what?”

“Well, as I said, you screwed this up. So we’ve changed some key arrangements, let's say. This was supposed to be a two for one kinda of situation. We get revenge and they get a loose end neutralized.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Steve answered, chin and voice dropping.

Frenz gave a fake frown, feigning sadness.

“I think it is, Captain,” he said before motioning around the room. “See, there is one of your agents in here, up against twelve of mine. And your team is out there and useless, even if you _weren’t_ outnumbered. This just isn’t going to be your day. Now, let’s get to the fun part.”

“Tony, I need options now,” Steve said tersely, watching the man turn back around towards you. Steve’s stalling while F.R.I.D.A.Y and Tony worked this out clearly wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Working on it,” Tony said from behind his Iron Man mask.

“Not good enough!” Steve whispered.

Bucky stood still, mind calculating through the possibilities. If he broke the glass, even if it only took one swing which wasn’t guaranteed, he wouldn’t be able to get to you in time. If he made it up to the floor above, down the hall, jumped down to the balcony and stormed in through the back, he wouldn’t be able to get you in time. If Steve’s shield and his arm hit near the same mark simultaneously, they might be able to break through. But Steve didn’t have his shield. And he wouldn’t be able to get you in time.

A thought bubbled up and burst in his head, making his chest tight and blistering fury course through his veins.

_Nothing I do will be able to get to you in time._

“Now,” the man rubbed his nose, squatting down with his back to the Avengers, facing you. “There are certain things that Hydra wants. So we’ll comply with some of that. Maybe not all. But there are certain things _I_ _want_ that we’re going to get to first. And your friends out there are going to watch. If they move, you die. If they try anything, you die. If you try anything, you die. So let’s just enjoy this, shall we?”

He stood, looking down at you and you looked up at him, not breaking eye contact. You wouldn’t appear weak to someone like him and look away in fear. You face him- all of them- head on.

He walked around you, again smartly giving you a wide berth, before crouching again and looking to the Team.

“I’m going to fuck you, right here in front of all of your friends, and they are going to watch. Then, if you do a good job, I’ll kill you. If you don’t do a good job, if you struggle, or if you make any move against me, I’ll let every man here have you before I kill you. And trust me, you’ve seen the sick things they do in battle. You can image what kind stuff they’re into.”

The smallest emotion flashed in your eyes before dropping quickly away. Bucky’s heart plummeted to the floor and the heat in his veins cracked open and spilled to every corner of his body. He didn’t think, just reacted, hands flying up the glass. Instantly both Nat and Steve held his arms, trying to pull him back but they couldn’t tear him off. Words erupted from the back of his throat, deep and merciless.

“You fucking touch her and you are _dead_ ," Bucky threatened, the meaning and intensity of words resonating to his very core. “There won’t a hole deep enough for you to hide in.”

Bucky was not used to this.

Yes, a room full of trained professional killers. Yes, hostage situations. Yes, sick threats from sick men. None of this was particularly unusual for someone with his past.

But the problem hit him here like a bullet to the gut. In the last seventy years, he had not been in a situation like this where he actually _cared_ for the person.

You had been there with Bucky, reminding him of better days with friends and warmth, showing him that the sum total of his life was not just the acts they made him commit. That he had been capable of small moments of joy at one time and that he maybe he could be a semblance of that person again. With no talk of even whether he _deserved_ that or not. That he wasn’t a monster or killer with a weapon as an arm made especially for him to hurt people, that it wasn’t something to be feared. That _he_ wasn’t something to be feared. That he could have someone with him who understood the brokenness that was inside him without having to voice it. That hadn’t cowered in fear from him. That for the first time ever someone- you, a stranger up until a few weeks ago- had melted into place in his life without effort or pain or awkwardness or even real realization until now. It had been little by little then all at once that you became a part of his life.

Emotionally this situation was all so foreign and so intense. The fire in his body burned him with it.

“Don’t think so, Soldier,” Frenz said, standing up and holstering his gun, walking to get in front of you. “She knew about us, but we didn’t even pop up on your radar, did we? No, I think you’ll find us hard to find.”

He said it almost dully like he had explained it a thousand times before.

_Shit._

But it didn’t matter. Maybe Bucky railed against the fight now, but he would find them and use every torturous skill he had learned at Hydra. He would willingly cross a line he thought he wouldn’t cross again.

“Now, I remember they used to call you **The Siren**? Why don’t you sing a little song for me now, huh?" he teased, that hunger back in his eyes. "Let’s get the mood right in here.”

It took only a moment, but it happened with blinding speed.

You shot into action and moved to sweep the legs of the man in front of you who had stepped just a little too close, knocking him to the ground. You grabbed his head between your feet and wretched hard, snapping his neck in the middle of the room for all to see.

A split second before absolute chaos ensued, Bucky heard himself yell out a crackling “NO!”

You sprung into action, the sudden pile-on in your direction giving barely any space for the intruders to shoot, stab, or fight. You swung over someone’s back, grabbing the knife you found in the belt and cutting your restraints before your feet even hit the ground

“Tony, get us in there!” someone behind Bucky said, their voices falling away as his focus was solely on you.

You slashed the throat of the man next to you, using him a shield as you kicked out your legs, knocking out another man. You moved lightning fast and used everything possible to your advantage to dodge and shield yourself as you fought back against the barrage of men, bullets, and knives.

“Get me the fuck in there!”

Bullets sounded as you fired back, dogging beneath the couches only to shoot up and pull down another assailant, stabbing him in the stomach then heart, your arms and body moving at a blinding speed.

“My hammer will make quick work of this!” In the distance, walls sounded like they were breaking.

“No! This’ll get far worse if you break the glass, don’t!”

“Cap, your shield!” A whiz through the air before it practically slid on Steve’s arm.

“You’re fucking dead!” a man in the room sounded throwing down his gun in favour of a large knife.

You kicked out his knees, sent an elbow to his head, grabbed the gun, then shot him. You slid underneath the coffee table, jumping up to send the table flying into another assailant, knocking him down. The man in front of you got a knife to the groin, stomach, and throat before again you using him a shield against the onslaught of bullets.

Covered in blood as it sprayed down on your from the jugular of the man now at your feet, you flipped over the couch, feet kicking hard and knocked out the next man. You grabbed a small set of knives on a man’s thigh, throwing them through the air like lightning to hit to the two unconscious men you had knocked out in the course of the fight. In a flash you kicked up a gun and sunk two bullets in the head of the man at your feet. Just as someone came barreling from behind you, you threw the butt of the gun back into his face.

Another man came at you and you ran at him, but instead of meeting him head on you ducked down, dodging his fists and stabbed him in the thigh and stomach. As the other assailant came back for you he grabbed you from behind and you twisted to grab his neck and flipped him over, facing the team.

As the Team watched the man bent backwards in your arms, with a yell you wretched your arms up. An audible snap was heard as the man went limp, his neck broken by your arms with considerable effort. Bucky watched you, stunned as your eyes looked back to him, revealing nothing through your blood-drenched face.

Another man lunged at you but you rolled under him, grabbing a knife at his ankle and dug it deep into his leg and pulled it through his flesh up to his hip, blood pouring everywhere.

And then suddenly there was quiet. You stood crouched on the floor, facing the Team, chest heaving and eyes both dead and wild.

Instinctively you grabbed a gun, looking down through the scope as you crouched. Your left hand went up, fingers signing quickly.

“Two went out the balcony.” Bucky translated, voice strained and quiet, before speaking back to you. “Don’t follow them! Wait for us, Y/N. Please.”

But low and silent you crept through the room and over the carnage of the eleven slashed, shot, and now dead men. Within Bucky the heated fury shifted to a different kind of fire as his heart lurched in pain.

Voices again suddenly boomed, yelling and panicked and loud.

“Why the hell can’t he just hammer the fucking thing?!”

“Does structural integrity mean _nothing_ to you?”

“Not compared to people lives, Tony!”

“I’m going up the next floor, I’ll drop down.”

“If they have a jet you best believe there are weapons there! We need to take them down now!”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., throw me a fucking bone here!”

Eventually, the door clicked opened and at once the Team was off towards that stairwell. Bucky took off fast, ignoring the slick blood underneath his boots as he sprinted to get to you.

When he arrived at the top, you were there, standing still, faced away from them. A gun hung loosely at your side and the black backdrop of the city framed you, not a star in the sky. The only movement was caused by the small enemy jet engines whirling air around you, making your hair whip around wildly.

At your feet were the two remaining intruders, bloodied and dead.

Silently you turned around. You still held your mask up, the one you had used to block out the man Frenz with eyes dead and face expressionless. The one you had kept on while fighting and killing those men. The one you used while you looked Bucky in the eye and snapped a man’s neck. The one you kept on while you left the Team, walked over the gore and horror your hands had caused to finish the job and kill two more that were fleeing.

As fast as the Team stepped forward, they now stepped back, except Bucky. You didn’t make any indication of hurt at that, you simply and slowly walked through the group back down to the room below.

“I’m… so sorry,” Tony muttered to you as you passed. But you made no notice that you heard.

“What do we… I mean what should we…”

But Bucky still wasn’t listening to anyone else. He followed you down the stairs and stopped at the bottom-most step, watching as you looked like you were assessing what you had done. Your eyes moved to each body, looking it up and down.

Bucky's eyes were on you and not the scene in front of him, his mouth tasting of bitter and dry ash. Hesitantly he put his hand up to touch your shoulder before putting it down again.

“Y/N…”  Again, Bucky hesitated before reaching his hand up again.

But before his skin touched yours, you moved through the red smeared room and out the now open door, leaving bloody footsteps in your wake and down the hall.

Bucky looked around the eerily quiet room, unable to pull up a feeling of disgust or horror at the scene. The fire that was burning still held on and all he could feel in that moment was crushing pain for you.

The thick silence did not last long as the voices of the Team tumbled down the stairs.

“… defense against thirteen people?”

“If this was her. You’re forgetting that. We just don’t _know_. Not anymore.”

“Focus here. The lounge is a swimming pool of blood right now, people. Back burner this shit.”

With that the Team filed down and one by one. Bucky watched them do their best to take in the situation. Thor grimaced, Natasha just looked pale, Steve looked heart-broken, and Tony looked sick.

“Where is she?” Steve asked Bucky quietly after a few moments.

But he turned around as footsteps padded softly down the hall, and to Bucky’s surprise, it was you. You hadn’t left to shower the blood that covered almost every inch of you, or breakdown, or leave the Tower altogether. You came back.

Towed in hand was a huge duffle bag that strained your arms. Picking the one small corner near the bathroom door that was blood-free, you set it down and unzipped the bag, contents filled to the brim. You grabbed several items including what looked like a clear tarp and slipped into the bathroom, emerging a few moments later.

You took hold of the nearest body, picking up the dead weight bridal style seemingly with ease like you did this often.

“Y/N, stop, you don’t–”

But a loud low thud with the scrunching of plastic sounded from the bathroom just after you walked in.

And so methodically, you began to clean up.

Moving bodies to the tub in the bathroom, after five were in you pulled out a small vial, a bottle of bleach it looked like, and a bucket from your bag. Filling it with the bleach, you pulled off the top with your teeth and emptied the purple vial of liquid into it. You splashed the contents over the bodies and instantly a sickening fizzle and popping sound erupted. The smell was deathly sweet, adding to the stench of the now quickly disintegrating bodies.

At one point Tony tired to interrupt, frantic and scattered.  

“Okay, this is _enough_ –”

Bucky’s arm reached out and grabbed Tony’s wrist harshly before it could touch you.

“Let her do what she has too,” It came out like a threat.

“She needs… This is madness, Barnes. She needs _help_ ," Tony sputtered, that sick look on his face getting more frantic.

“I don’t think she’s accepting help right now,” Bucky grimaced. You acted like you hadn’t heard a word either had said.

Once all the bodies were sizzling and disintegrating, you continued with another bucket and another vial. You mix this one with water and splashed it liberally around the room.

In front of everyone's eyes, the blood began to move together in large pools then began to coagulate in large chunks before hardening into a dense, dark solid. 

You splashed the liquid around the room in a circle and by the time you were back to where you started, the blood was solid. You poured the last of the liquid over you and snapped your jaw shut in pain for a moment, blood falling off you in blobs before hitting the ground solidified. You picked up every last piece around the room while the Team watched.

You took a moment and put every piece of furniture back into place. You went back into the bathroom to remove and fold the tarp. You tied up the garbage bag of solid blood. You packed everything up back into the duffel bag. 

You were concise and calculating and methodical. Like you had done this a thousand times before.

All while you stayed silent, mask still in place.

* * *

Several hours later Bucky was woken by a frantic voice, interrupting his just established, uneasy sleep. He knew before getting into bed that he was doomed to have a nightmare but that had hardly seemed important.

Immediately he pulled his arms in tighter, expecting to find your warm body. But tonight you were absent from his bed, and an ache rain through Bucky as that night came storming back.

“She’s gone! Buck, I can’t find her,” Steve said, a shadowy outline at the end of the bed, breathing heavy.

Bucky sprung out instantly into action, heading out the door without thinking or even pulling on a shirt. He knew it was you. “Where have you looked?”

“Everywhere Buck.”

After a few moments once they entered the elevator, Bucky paused and looked Steve. “ _Why_ were you looking?”

“I couldn’t sleep”, he looked down, weariness lining his face. After spending time securing the Tower or worrying about Y/N, there was no doubt everyone was having trouble sleeping tonight. “I needed to see that she was okay. With her nightmares…”

But Bucky knew better than Steve. He tried to keep down the heat that flooded his chest. Bucky had checked on you, Steve didn’t need too. He had walked with you, a barely-there touch on the small of your back leading you down and safely back to your room. He debated going in, he debated asking if you wanted to stay with him instead. But he simply said a goodnight and you hadn’t responded, only closed the door with that dead look in your eyes.

But it should have been Bucky to notice you were gone. Why hadn’t he checked on you again later to make sure you were asleep? Why didn’t he just stay outside your door, just in case?

But now as the two men enter your room, they found it empty, just as Steve said it would be. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing misplaced, no sign of foul play.

“Training room,” Bucky said whipping around and running down the hall, Steve in tow.

“I’ve already been,” But Bucky needed to see it himself.

Empty. Bucky turned on every light and there wasn’t any sign of you there or that you had been there that night. No long sleeve shirt or water bottle on the bench, no weights out of place, no subtle sway of Steve’s punching bag. No signs of foul play.

“Goddamn it!” Bucky yelled, fury bubbling as he ran out of the room. 

_Where were you?!_

His next thought was the lounge, though you had no reason to go back there. Bucky’s stomach swayed with nausea as they got to the glass wall, trying not to picture you bound on the floor again with him locked out on the other side, unable to do anything.

But the door was propped open, having been done so by Tony earlier in almost an apology for his damned tech and stupid fucking walls having kept them out.

Bucky scanned the dark room but saw nothing. No movement, no sign of you, no sign of foul play.

“No matter where the fuck she is this world, I will find her and _kill_ whoever took her,” Bucky spewed out into the empty room, almost shaking with determination.

“She has to be in the Tower, Bucky. There was no security entry for anyone leaving the building, she’s here I know it.”

“Like I would trust the fucking security system," Bucky spat, storming towards the exit.

Bucky sped back through the room, ready to scour every fucking inch of this place himself, before the bathroom handle caught his eye. He bee-lined for it, debating on kicking down the door before deciding just to turn the handle.

He walked inside, the astringent smell of that sweet cleaner assaulting his nose. It was quickly followed by his heart sinking.

Across the dark, small room he saw on the side of the bathtub the shadowy top of your head and the tips of your fingers leaning against its white side.

“No,” he whispered silently.


	6. Save Yourself or Stay

It was grey, the dawn light muted and clouding the room in a deep haze. There was no sound from the city below or within the building itself. Everyone was sleeping fitfully, dreams filled with their loved ones killed by the hands of their friends, save two ex-Hydra operatives.

“I don’t _know_ why,” you replied, a hoarsely whispered sound in the murky room. Your stomach twisted and eyes burned as Bucky looked to you, your back against the cold wall and him on the edge of the bed. “And I can’t apologize. I _won’t_. Not for any of it.”

The words came laboured and low, like you were exhausted trying to pull them out of your mouth.

The man across the room unfolded his hands in passive demonstration, head hung low and eyes unusually soft.

“You know I won’t judge you for that,” he said, voice as soft as his gaze on your wrecked frame. “How could I?”

“Easily,” you insisted, voice barely audible even in the heavy quiet. 

Bucky dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head, trying to shake out the right words. Nothing could make this easier, not in this broken moment, but he was trying and truthful.

“Your choice was die or save yourself,” he eventually said, blue eyes piercing through the grey distance that separated you. 

It was an ocean impossible to cross that contained the calm of one person and the storm of another. 

“You _saved_ yourself, Y/N. Isn’t that what you do?”

* * *

 

The morning brought with it a beginning to a day you had never wanted to face. One that was inevitable. A physical pain you could stand; you would even prefer it. But this kind of pain was rooted deep inside you and you couldn’t shake it or ignore it.

You didn’t need to adjust to what happened or how you reacted to it. This was pretty much who you were under it all. Or who you had been, anyway. It had been your life at one point, and you couldn’t count how many times you had done exactly what you had done last night. Just never in front of them, and certainly not in the Tower.

It wasn’t what you had done that made your stomach turn and eyes burn last night or again now. The feel of slicing someone open, the heat of blood burning your skin, the pops of sound when bullets hit your target; that wasn’t what made you near sick to your stomach as you woke up.

It was _watching_ the Team as you were doing it. Their disgust and hatred at seeing the real you underneath it all.

Would they even want you anymore?

“Bucky,” you spoke softly, not surprised to be waking up next to him. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep, or getting to his room for that matter. But you both had been both been awake for some time now, just breathing together, neither willing to acknowledge the morning or each other just yet. The day was weighing heavy on you both it seemed.

“Do you think they’ll hate me for it?” you asked in the quiet, voice barely carried from your mouth as you breathed the question into his chest.

Silence, like he was considering it and not reflexively trying to make light of the situation. You deeply appreciated that and closed your eyes a little tighter against him. 

“No.”

Maybe it was the preferable answer but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Again, you asked quietly, trying to remove all emotion from your voice: “Do you think they’ll want me to leave?”

“No.” Firm and confident. 

You didn’t want to look up to Bucky, settled comfortably against the bare skin of his chest, heart steadily beating against your ear in an easy tempo. He didn’t look down to you either and you knew this was easier. Being with each other in this moment and not looking into each other's eyes like that would make this all too vulnerable- was how you both had to handle things.

But you _were_ vulnerable, in a way you never wanted to be. This had been the lowest point that the Team had seen you in, and _that_ was saying something. Maybe not the worst thing you had ever done, but the worst thing you had done in years, and certainly in front of an audience of friends and team members.

It struck you all at once, that maybe you had offered Bucky your help but ultimately you needed it too. Just like you understood him, he could help you in a way that the others could never understand. You were _both_ the mission now.

And you remembered Steve saying as much, then decided immediately never to tell him he was right. Damn know-it-all.

“Bucky… I need help,” you asked like he had once asked you.

“Anything.” 

The deep timbre of his response came immediately and instantly a prick of frustration hit you amidst other much sappier emotions. You decided to focus on the frustration as that was more familiar territory.

You pulled back from him, looking up to his eyes then immediately cast yours down. You had broken the spell of the morning.

“Why would you say that… you don’t know me, not fully,” you argued. “And I’m here to help _you_. You’re the one that needs it. That’s probably why Steve put up with me since the beginning.” 

“Or because he cares about you, Y/N,” he murmured, a hint in his voice of an emotion you couldn’t peg. 

“Yes, cares enough to what?” you said, frustration turning to put you on the offensive. Maybe not justified but it was a lot better than feeling hurt. “Be my friend until the _real_ me shows up?”

Heat bloomed in your chest and immediately you pushed yourself away from Bucky. You broke his gentle grip on you and sat up on your knees, brows furrowed and face hard.

“Listen, that was _me_ last night,” you started. “That’s what _I_ chose and that’s who _I_ am. I’m not going to apologize for it. Steve won’t approve; none of them will. And if you think I’m going to base my _worth_ on the fucking--"

“Can you just stop?” Bucky interrupted, speaking over your frustrated rant.

His calm look and expression made you all the angrier, digging your nails into the sheets. The man that lay in front of you, shirtless and propped up on his elbow, casual as ever. The fact that he was somehow still a fucking specimen this early in the morning while you probably looked like you’d been dragging under a truck for a few city blocks didn’t help.

“ _Excuse_ me, Barnes?” you seethed. “Where in the ice cold _hell_ do you—”

He put up his free had in surrender. “I’m _just_ going to say what I did last night, Y/N. You don’t _need_ anyone judging you for saving yourself against fucking slime like they were. Not Steve, not anyone. And if you hadn’t killed them, I would have.”

That put a full stop to your running mind and emotions. You sat there, staring at him for a moment. This man _hated_ fighting, much less going further down to extremes and killing anyone.

“…What?” you said much quieter, face and posture softening. “You would’ve? Why?”

But he didn’t answer, just reached up and grabbed your waist, pulling you back down to his chest. He wrapped himself around you like he had night after night since this all began, warm and familiar and fitting.

Heat rose to your cheeks either from your outburst or more likely the casual way he pulled you back to him. Suddenly his skin to yours- that had been like that for some time in the hazy morning- which had been pleasant, was now boiling hot. 

“What?” he answered, voice muffled by your hair and his pillow as he sighed. “Seem a waste not too. They did make the trip.”

The lame attempt at a joke made you snort before his body made yours tense again.

“By the way… I don’t actually remember getting here,” you said awkwardly, last night a bit of a numb blur. “In your bed. With you, a relative stranger.”

He wasn’t a stranger by any means, but you had never made a confidant so fast in your life. Relationships with people were not easy for you. Until Bucky showed up. Which was insane because he was certainly not Mister Congeniality either.

“Yeah, you’re in my bed,” he stated. You knew he had said that with a smile and your look up to him confirming a slight turn to this mouth. “And you have been for most of the nights I’ve been here. I like to think I know you a little. And that we’re going to help each other.”

His words held more than he was saying, eyes not giving away what it was. Your cheeks were still warm with a tinge of embarrassed vulnerability; a rare occurrence for you. It wasn’t as if you didn’t realize that you were there night after night being practically _pinned_ _down_ by the man, but it had never felt overly intimate? Hell _yes_ , it was awkward at first, but that was fleeting. This was just a way or a tool for him (and you now it seemed) to cope with the nightmares. 

Suddenly the intimacy of it was very present. And you realized for once it wasn’t actually his skin that was hot, but yours. 

You needed to change the subject, the skin to skin contact beginning to fluster you in a way that had never happened before.

You swallowed, hands finding their place around his waist in a feather-light, fidgeting way.

“I know you've seen worse but that was… very telling,” you began. “Of what I will do, when it comes down to it. What they could never dream of doing.”

 _Of what_ we’ve _done together_ , you thought.

You bit your tongue from continuing down that train of thought. 

“I’ve done worse,” he said, tone and face determined, if not sleepy. “And I will not fault you for killing anyone who wants to hurt you, Y/N. Now stop making me say it.”

You didn’t address his sentiment, not really knowing how. Not without going into the shared past you were determined to avoid acknowledging.

“That didn’t… bring back any bad memories for you?” you asked slowly, unable not too.

He watched you a moment before kind of shrugging. “No, should it?”

“You’ve just seen a lot,” you said simply. “I wouldn’t want more nightmare fuel for you.”

“You’ll never be in a nightmare of mine,” He paused before his face went stoic. “... Even if I am for you.”

Those words made your heart sink just a little. Enough to let the guilt come back in a bit.

“That was a weird lapse” you tried to reassure. You honestly couldn’t tell if it worked. And again you hated lying to him. “It really didn’t mean much of anything.”

He gave a slight nod before his arms released you, moving to get up. You figured talk of Bucky hurting you in your dreams was not a good memory for him to dwell on while trying to drift back to sleep in the early hours of the morning. 

You tried to sit up and slide off the bed like normal but your muscles ached fiercely. There was a burn through the back of your thighs and tighteness your shoulders that made your muscles feel like unmovable concrete.

The men you killed- Frenz and his team who were called “The Black”- had you on your knees for a long time before Bucky and the others showed up. You had to wait and bide your time until he moved close enough for you to make your move.

Somehow, despite absolutely _everything_ like the ill-adjusted person you were _,_ you couldn’t help but darkly chuckle. Again, what was the alternative? Cry? Moan about it? If that had been your approach all these years you would have drowned in tears and wails long before now.

Bucky turned back at that from across the room, quizzical quirk to those brunette brows.

“I don’t know if I have it in me for training today. Damn, I am so _stiff,_ ” You leaned your head back, hand on the back of your neck trying to move muscles that refused to budge.

“Yeah, that kind of fight would do that to you,” He turned from you, pulling out a clean shirt from his dresser, as was his morning routine.

“The _fight_ I can handle, it’s being on my knees so long that hurts.”

The bedroom door swung open, and without so much as a knock, Steve walked in a panicked hurry. He sped in in a blonde and blue whirlwind.

“Buck, do you—” he started before seeing you on Bucky’s bed in your pajama shorts and tank top, Bucky bare-chested about to pulled on a shirt, and you having just made an ill-timed comment about your _knees aching._

“Sorry,” he said quickly, looking down as he worked to dispel himself of the frantic energy. “I didn’t know you two were in here.”

“Who were you looking for than?” you asked, your humour making him look up to you with a look of blank surprise. 

“Just, well- just you,” he said, eyebrows still high in surprise. “I couldn’t find you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. After uh... Well, after last night.”

“I compartmentalize well,” you swallowed, your throat suddenly impossibly tight. “Don’t think there’s much of a chance that the Team will though.”

The weight of last night that had been momentarily forgotten came ripping back and you could almost feel your face crumple as you looked away from your closest friend in this Tower.

Killing those bastards was not a regret of yours. They were vile and would have done exactly what they said, if not far worse. 

Maybe you should feel worse. Maybe you should feel remorse and want to mope around or cry at the horrors you hands committed last night. 

But you just _weren’t_ wired that way. You killed people who would have killed you. Your life had always been “ _complete the mission, or die_ ”. And ultimately, you didn’t have it in you to just accept death, even if it meant causing it with intense emotional fallout.

Steve the Boy Scout probably hadn’t rubbed off on you as much as he wished he had.

Steve just smiled tightly to you, no real warmth or good-natured spirit behind it. But as his face turned to Bucky, immediately that smile fell and his eyes threw daggers at his friend.

“Nothing happened, Steve,” Bucky muttered quickly, pulling his arms through the black shirt.

You winced a little, realizing that Steve probably didn’t know about your and Bucky’s sleeping arrangement lately.

 _Awkward_.

"Yeah, this does look compromising,” you admitted. “But he’s right, and he was just trying to help. We’ve decided to help each other out.”

You tried to say that with as much positivity as you could muster, but in the silence that followed you second guessed if it got through.

When no one continued said anything, the two men just standing there as you sat on the bed, you decided that maybe that was your cue.

By the looks Steve was giving Bucky and actively avoiding your gaze, you figured that he didn’t want to speak with you anyway. Perhaps your closest friend here wouldn’t be staying so close after all.

You tensed up right away at that thought, trying not let the weight of it hit you. 

You were expecting people would shy away or avoid you or speak in hushed voices when you walked into a room (they _had_ watched in you a fight after all, if not a significantly less bloody one). Maybe you were missing some information between Steve and Bucky, but still, you figured it wasn’t being in Bucky’s bed at 8am that was really the cause of Steve’s behaviour.

But you hadn’t braced yourself for the pain of maybe losing them yet. And despite your talk when you were angry, you certainly were not ready to lose Steve over this.

You tried to keep it together as you said a quick good morning to them both and got out of there.

You clenched your fists and closed your eyes for a moment halfway down the hall. A cascade had happened that you had been avoiding. If you had stayed quiet in Bucky’s arms, he would’ve ignored the world right along with you. But you spoke, you got up, you got angry, you started this morning and the domino effect couldn’t be stopped. And you knew it ended with you having to face the Team.

* * *

 

“Okay, talk to me,” you said flatly but firm. 

This was the only way to get all this aired out. You couldn’t let the stench of your kills ruin years of friendship. The Team gathered here in the lab? Well they were all you had in this world really. And you wouldn’t give up on this without a fight.

“I think you should talk to us, maybe?” came Bruce’s small voice when no one spoke up. 

The white and grey lab held every member of the Team currently at the Tower, spread out and certainly giving you a wide berth. Perched on the counter, gripping the edge to ground yourself, you looked out to the varied (but all rather grim) expressions of your friends.

But what exactly could you say? They all saw it, and a remorseless stance was probably not what they wanted. Their repulsed and horrified faces came flooding back to your mind.

You opened your mouth to speak before closing it, at a loss to start this without some guidance on what they needed to hear from you. Eventually, Tony spoke up.

“We don’t murder,” said Tony, uncharacteristically slow.

 _Okay, just keep breathing normally. No frustration,_ you thought to yourself, focusing on the air entering and leaving your lungs. _They have a right to speak what they wish too. You’re in the wrong in their eyes, so if you want to keep them, let’s just get through it._

“You’re right,” you agreed, pausing to let that sink in as you looked to them. “We don’t. I don’t _want_ too. There are no excuses I can make that will absolve me, and I don’t want that.”

“Yes, there _are_ excuses,” Bucky said curtly, for the first time speaking up in a group meeting like this unprompted. 

He looked right to you, arms crossed and face hard. Maybe having someone on your side so completely wouldn’t help the situation. 

Though it secretly still gave you a bit more courage.

“Bucky,” you implored just a little. You weren’t doing this for you, you were doing this for them and he needed to play along. “There are thirteen dead people. Whoever they were or whatever they had done, there was a way to deal with this- a protocol- that I should have followed.”

“Listen, devil’s advocate here,” started Nat, her red hair swiveling on her shoulders as she looked from you to Bucky to Tony. “But you wouldn’t have survived. You just said it; there were _thirteen_ of them. You had to incapacitate them.”

“Incapacitate them, yes of course,” you agreed. “But kill them, no.”

At least not necessarily. Those weren’t the kind of men one would want to keep alive for any reason other than strictly necessary. But you still could have.

“What the fuck is this?” came Tony’s voice, looking to you almost defiantly and certainly angry, brown eyes flashing heat. “You _agreeing_  that this was a colossal mistake and then _us_ defending your actions? What kind of flipped around bullshit is this?”

“Tony, I’m _not_ looking for anyone to defend me and I’m _not_ trying to grovel here,” you said before Nat could speak up. “I just want us to talk openly about it. I _did_ this. To the Team. In our _home_. I just think we should address it.”

Your demeanour was collected but shit this is hard. The fact that they were family kept ringing through your head as Tony’s anger grew.

“Right, you stay the saint so we take pity on you, and then carry on our merry fucking way, right Y/N? Is that what you think is going to happen here?”

_…What?_

“Tony, I get that you’re angry, really,” you said slowly, trying to match a calm energy to his increasingly furious one. “That has been the most resonating emotion in me for a long time. But I don’t fully understand what you mean here.”

His teeth ground and hand waved out, unable to stand still now.

“Then let’s lay it out, shall we?” he spat. “You’ve mentioned your nightmares flaring up since _he_ came,” His head jerked back towards Bucky. “And now we’ve seen it first hand. Even that Bucky has featured in them.” 

A sharp look to Nat at that was your only response. Unless Bucky spilled (unlikely), Nat was the only one you told. 

Trust a spy. Right.

“Now you’re ganking elite murderous boy bands _single-handedly_ on my leather chaise!” he yelled. “This is too much and you _know_ it. _That’s_ why you pulled away from the mission. You even said that yourself; that this would take over. Looks like it’s taken you over _completely_ because I did _not_ recognize that person last night!”

Silence hung as slid off the counter and stood arms crossed and trying to voice your words carefully. 

 _If you snapped they might just shoot you here out of fear_ , you thought ruefully. Well, Tony might anyway.

“So you never understood what you read in my file, or what you’ve seen first hand when we’ve fought our enemies before?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“This isn’t the same and you know it!” he bit back, pointing a finger at you. “Your eyes were dead last night. You weren’t _you_ at all. We can’t let someone be here- some loose cannon filled with _crazy_ \- that can snap back into a Hydra killing machine at any moment. Even the new guy has done better than you lately, and you’ve been at it for years.”

You felt a ripple move under your skin. The need to match aggressive behaviour with aggressive behaviour starting to pull and nag at you.

“Trauma doesn’t have a playbook Tony, and I apologize to you for that,” _Calm and collected, just stay calm and collected…_ “You deal with it, and sometimes it comes back. And you _keep_ dealing with it. This is something I am just learning myself. I am sorry mine has come back in ways we weren’t expecting.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, pursing his lips. “In front of our eyes as you fucking hacked _thirteen people to death._ ”

“And what was the alternative here?” you said lowly through your teeth, the ripple growing momentum. “Have them rape and kill me?” 

“You could’ve incapacitated them, Y/N,” Steve piped up. Fuck him if he was on Tony’s side in all of this. Your forehead creased, jaw tightening as he spoke. “Some had guns. Yes, you could’ve shot and killed them. But you also could’ve knocked them out.”

“But you didn’t even try for that option!” Tony interjected, all worked up. “You used knives to slice them up or used your bare hands for god’s sake. You didn’t even _think_ , you just went full Hydra and killed them all!”

All focus of calm deep breaths was forgotten, you just trying to your best to keep calm.

“It’s easy to analyze a fight afterward,” you said, swallowing down your emotions. “In those situations I—”

“You _attacked_ , you _murdered_ , and you did it without a _hint_ of remorse,” Tony spat. “How are you any better? Huh? Since _he_ came in, you let Hydra back into your life and into our _home_.”

Okay, _the fuck_ was this coming from?!

You held up a hand for Bucky to stop as he began to move forward towards Tony from the back fo the room, fists clenched and blue eyes blazing. One of you had to keep it together and you were close to splitting at the seams here.

You had to unpack this; to understand what the hell was wrong here. You didn’t expect this to be pleasant, but you weren’t expecting it devolve into this.

“Can we take a moment to really talk about this?” you ask, honestly trying to figure this out. “Because I have no idea where this is coming from Tony. None. I’ve barely spent time with any of you since Bucky came, no one has voiced anything even _remotely_ like this. I just... I just don’t know where this coming from.”

Tony stepped uncomfortably close to you and an ice cold shot moved down your spine. It wasn’t out of fear of him, it was out of fear _for_ him. Slowly you raised your head up to meet him in the eye, your faces just inches apart.

“What, have you two been whispering Hydra secrets to each other and reliving the glory days of the past? Hmm?” he quietly and taunting spoke. “Decide to invite your little buddies to play around and have some old time fun?”

You had figured when Bucky came on board that the real risk was ultimately that he would reject the Team. It would be too much too fast for him. You didn’t figure that the Team would reject _you_ because of his supposed influence. This was far-fetched fucking madness.

Whatever projected anger Tony was laying on you was ridiculous and the rest of the Team did nothing to try and stop this. How was everything falling apart this way?!

If they- apart from Bucky- weren’t going to try and stand up for you, you certainly would.

“Why are you not confronting your weakness at not being able to protect the people you call your friends, in the place you built, with your supposed top-of-the-line technology?” you said, voice ever so slightly cracking under your frustration. “Your anger isn't about _me_. It’s about you projecting at having to face  _your_ short-comings. About not being able to fulfill the one goal you have to _protect people_ at any cost, Tony.”

He turned, shaking his head and laughing in a humourless, angry huff.

“No, it’s about you being the fucking _Siren_ of Hydra,” Tony said stepping back almost confidently. “You weren’t an assassin; someone like Bucky wouldn’t have _been_ so sloppy last night. He would’ve grabbed a gun and shot everyone point blank. But not _you_. You just slipped into your old self again, didn’t you?”

“Tony, enough.”

“Remembering your glory days huh? You tortured for your old team: men, women, children. Whatever they wanted. You seduced people. You inserted yourself into people’s lives, into their homes, physically and psychologically torturing them. But Hydra didn’t _make_ you, did they? They just _released_ you.”

“Enough,” you dropped your gaze, eyes wide with a building fury and terror rolling in your chest and tumbling through your body.

“Why don’t we open this up to the whole team?” he continued bitterly. “Let’s talk about this together. How about the time you met your target at a coffee shop? What was his name, Y/N? Henry, or something? You remember him, don’t you? I read about that mission not long ago. You sparked up a conversation, went out on a date, then another. In a couple weeks, wow! You were moving into his place, weren’t you? You met his family over holidays, but that didn’t interrupt you poisoning his mind, twisting him to somehow _kill_ his own brother. Then you killed the rest of his family before his eyes. And you framed him for all of it? Do you remember that bloodbath?”

“Please.”

“How about what you did to the ambassador’s daughter? Eviscerating her in front of five her nine-year-old friends? And then you left them locked up with her poor mutilated dead body for _hours_. Or what about your warehouse- your dirty laboratory- filled with pits of the people you were holding on to, trying out new torture techniques to make people crack and bleed and beg for death? That wasn’t Hydra, that was _you_ wasn’t it? Maybe they brought you into the fold, but this is just who you are underneath it all. And you don’t show a fucking _shred_ of remorse for any of it, do you? Just like last night.”

" _Stop_."

"You were the premier torturer for Hydra, and shit, you were the best they ever had, weren't you Y/N?" he spat, the words stinging you like venom in your veins. "No one could compare to you, not in Hydra, not in all of history I'd bet! It's just who you fucking are underneath it all, isn't it? Isn't it, Y/N?!"

You stood stone still, words not coming. You heard gruff shouts in the background but didn’t process the words, your brain not having space to work through your past and the present room at the same time.

His recounting of your past was true. You did those things, and so much more, for decades as the Siren. You split people open for Hydra, tortured, manipulated, killed, maimed, toyed with your prey. You weren't used to merely kill, something clean and impersonal and efficient. No, you were set out to break people from the inside out, in the goriest, bloodiest ways that before you were unimaginable. You brought a deeper, darker shadow on the world than anyone had before, drowning part of the world with the blood you spilled. You called people to their deaths and laughed doing it. And when you were done, you were folded back into the tentacles of Hydra, the tables turned so they could torture you and keep you under their control.

“It wasn’t me. It was never me,” Your voice sounded robotic, not like you at all. “I might remember it... but I still couldn’t help doing it. I didn’t learn how to stop them from triggering me for a long time. But I did learn. Last night I could’ve helped it; I didn’t have to kill them. But I did. That’s not on Hydra. It’s on me.”

Were you breathing? Were you even standing right now. You couldn’t feel anything at all.

The scene in front of you was lost, eyes not focused on what you were seeing but mind focused on suddenly having to confront the pain you had longed buried. It took you years, alone and shaking, in that desolated warehouse to unravel and rebuild what was left of your mind. To use your anger and spark within you to fight back against your captors and torturers and those enemies, like The Black, that you once revelled in the darkness with.

“That wasn’t all of them," you said, voice diminishing word by word until it was barely audible. "The rest are still out there and they’ll come for me again. I’ll do better. I promise I’ll do better...”

And that was your limit. Well beyond your limit actually. This whole interaction was too much.

As you slowly walked out of the room, you watched your feet carefully set down on the floor, step by step. You didn’t notice Steve’s face contorted in pain, Natasha avoiding your gaze, Banner completely turned away, and Thor holding back an enraged Bucky.

On auto-pilot, you made it back to your room and into your bathroom, not seeing a single thing. You kneeled down, knees still smarting, in front of the toilet bowl. Throwing up the contents of your stomach, you couldn’t find the wherewithal to shake or yell or even hurt anymore.

After a while, you pulled yourself into the tub and lied down. You pressed your warm cheek into the cool white bathtub walls and tried to breathe. 

It had been a sick, private way for you to apologize after you disintegrated people. To lay where you last put them to rest, their body’s long gone only leaving you behind, cold and hollow. You had never had a home to take sanctuary in so it eventually just became a habit when you felt your world had plummeted. 

You might not have had a home, just this version of a cold, isolated hell.

But the hell Tony described? That was your life, that was what you lived with daily. That was what your dreams had consisted of before you decided not to punish yourself but the people who did this to you. Committing those heinous acts against both your will and every fibre of your being, being tortured to near death endlessly by their hand, and wanting to die day after day, was not payment enough for the Team or the world. 

It clearly would never be enough and you knew it.

You’d always be Hydra’s Siren. And she deserved no better, did she?

* * *

You ended up in his room, sitting on the floor by his bed. The late afternoon light stretched in orange and red streaks across the soft carpet and your feet.

You seemed to spend more time there than in your own room anyway and it was certainly better than spending your time in an empty bathtub. The smell of the space was somehow comforting, reminding you of slipping into blissful unconscious, safe and contented.

Whereas now you felt all too aware, too hurt, and too uneasy.

And now you had no one.

You might not _need_ people, you doubted you ever had. Even alone you had pulled yourself together eventually and gotten on your feet. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, but you did it. 

But you _wanted_ people. Your life had been so devoid of friends and companionship and familial love. It made you none the weaker to want that in your life. Even if losing it hurt this badly.

You heard the door open sometime later as you rubbed your chest, trying to relieve the bubble of biting emotions that you felt. More of that spicy Bucky smell announced him to you and another small wave of comfort hit you.

In your peripherals he crouched down, giving you space as he waited. You had come into his room after all. It was a while before you spoke.

“So, did that come up in your reading material?” you asked, tone a mix of numb and bitter.

“Yes,” came his answer eventually. 

You already knew if anyone could stomach all of what you had done, it was Bucky. He probably read further than any of the others did. You wondered if he was the first person to read all of it.

And his reading of it was a comfort to you. 

He knew what he was getting involved with long before this point. Why that was reassuring to you, you had no idea. It didn’t mean particularly good things for either of you.

“Stay with me?” you asked, rather out of nowhere. Your words held nothing but your heart did, deciding that it wasn’t able to withstand both the Team and Bucky abandoning you.

“That’s why I’m here, doll,” he said softly, his head tilting down to gently try to catch your eye.

When it did, you did a slight double-take at the state of him.

“Holy shit.” Your tone was void of emotion, unable to come up with the energy to do so, but as you looked over Bucky, your heart lurched a little.

Looking back at you was the same long brown haired, blue eyed man you had been holding this morning. The one that reassured you and stayed with you.

But now a deep reddish bruise was forming on his jawline and cheek and you noticed the same type of bruise on his hand that you were sure would reach up his arm. He was crouched a few feet from you, watching you intently, not reacting in any way to the pain that he would be feeling from a blow like that.

“What happened?” Oddly, in that moment you wished you had a pet name for him like he did for you.

He sighed, clenching his jaw. “I… _disagreed_ with them. Strongly.”

“Oh,” you blinked, a little surprised he would fight over you.

More silence followed, finding yourself unable to fill it.

“Stop thinking and talk to me,” Bucky insisted eventually. “Or punch me. You do seem to enjoy punching things.”

“If that’s what you’re into,” you joked humourlessly.

“Y/N…” he sighed. 

In your stoicism, you felt for him. You weren’t making this easy. 

“Tell me about a happy memory you have,” he suggested. “Something good. You’ve heard enough of mine.”

So you could forget the unpleasant ones that were on constant rotation now. Clever, if not unoriginal.

But instead of reversing the roles of what you had been doing with Bucky, with you talking about the good times while he listened, your mind went down a different track.

“I’ve been alone before, did you know that?” You didn’t know why you asked, he knew as much. You basically were just speaking out loud, not necessarily to him while you gripped your elbows tighter. “It was like I was trying to put together pieces of myself that I never had. Like there was this puzzle, and once completed I would have my sanity and my life back. They didn’t give the puzzle pieces. The Avengers, I mean.”

“ _You_ are an Avenger,” he insisted quietly.

“Yeah sure,” you said, mindlessly if not dismissively agreeing before continuing. “I found the missing pieces of myself, by myself. I picked myself up, and I did it again and again until I didn’t fall. Until I was too strong to be knocked down. Until I knocked down those that came after me. Until I went after them.”

You turned your head to him, a mix of emotions on his face as he looked to your pale, distant expression. You thought you saw warmth and sympathy in him. Maybe you were starting to read him better, or maybe he was letting his guard down more with you. Physically he could let you in easier which surprised both of you. Emotionally? That was an intensely personal thing to let another person see in someone like him.

“I could do it again. Be alone, I mean,” you said. “I would be fine. I might enjoy it. Dealing with people constantly is… too constant for me maybe. I could be quiet and alone again.”

A few beats passed before Bucky moved, shuffling closer to you. He sat beside you, hips touching yours.

“Yeah, I’m sure you could,” But in a tentative gentleness, he put his arm around you, and you stopped talking about being alone, leaning into him.

* * *

 

Once you could pick yourself off the floor, you filled your day with training, and your night with Bucky, playing old records and sleeping coiled up together. 

Yes, you knew that it seemed more intimate together since your realization that it was _incredibly_ intimate, but maybe that was just in your mind. Bucky didn’t change a thing so you didn’t let the thought interfere with what was working so well.

The only time he left you was to research The Black. You pretended you didn’t know what he was doing as he seemed to not want you to know. But honestly, they would come after you; you really didn’t need to find them. And if you could take them weaponless, bound, _and_ alone, you’d end up alright if they tried again when you were expecting it.

And on the few times the Team accidentally ran into you (though they did their best to stay off even the same floor you were on), Bucky immediately blocked you, from view or interaction. He was like some protective barrier, voice hard and resolve harder.

If this was alone, you could handle this. As long as being alone meant being with Bucky.

“Oh, that sounds like a complication,” you said out loud at the thought, face crumpled in not a small amount of fear.

“What?” he answered back, not looking up from his book. 

You quickly turned back to yours and sunk down farther into the couch. The two of you were in the lounge, a little bit of a “fuck you” you to the team somehow.

“Nothing,” you murmured.

* * *

 

In the kitchen late that evening, after having successfully avoided dinner with the Team, you and Bucky were comfortably together, having scrounged up some food.

“Did you sing a lot?” he asked, the sudden question pretty out of place as he worked on his sandwich.

“Um, when?” Your mouth was full of cereal but the words were intelligible enough.

“I mean when you fought,” he shrugged. “When you fight, I guess. That first mission I was on you sang. It actually called the enemy to you like a Siren.”

“Oh, you’ve heard a Siren first-hand, huh?” you replied with a half-hearted eye roll. “My my, that _must’ve_ been quite an interesting Hydra mission. Don’t remember that one in the log books.”

“Ha, ha,” he responded sarcastically before taking a bite of the sandwich, getting pensive as he leaned against the kitchen island. “I just mean, was that actually why code name? Because you sang a lot?”

“Yes, that was my name, as that what is what Frenz called me,” you said dryly. “You’ve read my file. And singing was better than screaming.”

It was your turned to look thoughtful, thinking on the quirk as you took another spoonful of the bright, sugary cereal. “And it is pretty unnerving for people. Who does that? Sing to an enemy?”

“I guess I’m asking why the singing,” he clarified.

You looked back to him, not exactly suspicious but wondering why the interest. Usually you didn’t talk about this, because no one ever really asked. People found it easier to ignore what you were or had once been (at least it _used_ to be like that).

But there was no sinister look in Bucky’s eyes, just an innocent kind of curiosity in those ocean blue eyes. You supposed you did talk about him a lot; it was a fair trade for him to want get to know you more. You had been vulnerable with him on more than one occasion now (actually, _extremely_ vulnerable) and you remembered that you needed to keep being vulnerable with him. For both of you to come out your shells and try to heal.

You sighed silently before shrugging. “That was how I ended up stopping their triggering. I would sing.”

You tried not to dwell on the specifics of those memories, having had more than enough of a reminder of your past.

“It was to drown out the sound of their drills and saws and the like, if you catch my drift,” AKA torture. “And eventually I used it drown out my own thoughts and internal screams. I was able to sing and focus so intently on it, that it drowned out their control. Took fucking _years_ to get to that point, let me tell you. Now in a fight, it just comes out sometimes.”

You shrugged again into your cereal bowl, taking another bite.

“Would you sing for me?” That made you stop mid-bite.

“Uh, what?”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifted at your look, the first time you had seen his mouth lift up like that in what felt like too long.

“Well, I don’t mean dedicate a song to me or anything, just… would you sing?” He tilted his head.

You looked at him before taking a bite, chewing slowly then swallowing. “Only if you want me to fight and kill you. So your choice.”

* * *

 

The pleasant time ignoring the world came to an end by way of Steve. 

You and Bucky were on your- well, technically Bucky’s- bed when Steve had come in, this time knocking gently first. He hadn’t waited for an answer, as both you and Bucky would have just ignored it, and Steve knew you both well enough to guess at that.

As the door opened you jumped up quickly from the tangle of Bucky’s arms and sweet warmth, walking to the other side of the room and distracting yourself with some book on Bucky’s bookcase. 

In the soft glow of the bedroom lamp, you waited, feeling Steve’s eyes on your back.

“That… Tony’s words weren’t true,” he started after a long pause, as though it meant anything to you.

You didn’t respond right away, fiddling with the spine of a blue fabric-covered book. You weren’t ready for this yet.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied quietly. “They sounded pretty true to me.”

“No I mean,” Whatever he was going to say was a deep struggle for him. You fought to stay staring at the bookcase and not your friend. “They were a lie. He doesn’t- _we don’t_ \- feel that way. None of us. We put on a show because we needed an honest reaction from you.”

“What?” you asked flatly, looking at him for the first time since he entered.

“I know, you’ve never hidden from us before,” he continued, sincerity and apologies in his eyes. “Even about things you haven’t wanted us to know about. But we weren’t sure that you were the real you.”

In a split second everything was too bright and too loud and too overwhelming as his words clicked into place. The only thing you could begin to really process was rage. 

Tony’s words weren’t out of nowhere at all, were they? It was all fake, to get a rise out you, to see how you would respond. To make sure that it _was_ you they were talking too, not the old Hydra remnant. The whole Team was in on this farce, and that was why they did nothing to stop it.

“That was fucking low,” you started, unable to actually see his face in your welling fury. “Fucking _low_ and you know it!”

“Y/N, we were scared,” Steve tried to reason. “Scared you weren’t going to snap out of it this time.”

“What do you mean _this_ time? I always snap out of it!” you shouted. “I’m not some mindless killing machine! Oh my god, the fuck Steve! I can’t fucking believe this.” 

“What they did to you… You have a trick you use when you’re triggered, I know it,” Steve's hands went up. “But you… you were still _you_ in all of this. Dead eyes, no emotion, but the person doing it was _you_. The person Hydra made didn’t take over, it was all just you. And it was _terrifying_ for us to watch. We couldn’t help you, Y/N. It was excruciating and we had to know it was truly over.”

“Yeah, well fucking great job, _Steve_. Can you believe this?” You turned to Bucky. He grimaced, turning to shoot daggers at his blonde friend, fists clenched.

“Yeah, I got the rundown from Steve earlier.”

Steve was smart enough to continue before letting you respond to _that_.

“We know it’s you, and you said that there are more out there, and certainly Hydra pulling strings from behind the curtain too. We need to find out who and get this taken care of.”

“And you want me to fucking go with you?” you responded, a mix of outrage and incredulous. “After all this. Really. Think you’ll be able to _trust_ me enough for that? _Hmm_ , you asshole?”

“I want this to be your choice, Y/N,” Steve said. “We aren’t going to force you one way or the other, and despite what you might think in this moment, we _do_ trust you.”

“Get out Steve,” your voice sounded almost sad to your ears, the rage falling to the wayside suddenly. “Please just go.”

The door clicked shut as he left and you leaned your head into your hands, arms resting on the bookshelf. You heard Bucky move off the bed, but he didn’t close the distance between you.

You worked through it. All of it. And still, you couldn’t land on a decision or even what the options were or what the fuck you were going to do.

“I had thought...” you started before trying again. “I wondered when you came if being here would be too much for you. It was too much for me but I worked it out eventually. And I thought that you would reject the Team. Leave them. I didn’t think that this would... that somehow _I_ would be here.”

“And?”

You turned, Bucky standing a few feet behind you, concern etched into his expression.

“And I don’t know if I _should_ be here anymore.”


	7. Apologies & Action

The next apology came the next day.

You tried to think you were more like a Natasha than a Hulk on a scale from collected badass to tantrum-y over-powered toddler, but that night had been hard. Everything came into question as you tried to sleep and not even the closeness of your ex-Hydra counterpart could help that. 

The morning came both much too quickly and much too slowly as you stayed up hour after hour. By the time Steve and Nat came for apology round two, you felt exhausted already. You tried to keep your own Hulk similarities to a minimum but wondered if that was a losing game.

“We thought we’d find you in here," Nat said, the first to walk in, looking between you and Bucky.

“Really? _That_ ’s what you want to start with,” you said, none too kindly.

You sat legs crossed on Bucky’s bed while he leaned against the window. Immediately both of your postures had gone rigid at the entry. Somehow the presence of two of your closest friends in the world- your chosen family- made you tense. And you so bitterly hated it.

Steve and Nat walked in, closing the door and standing near it. You noticed in your peripheries that despite the usual cold and stiff posture he took with the Team around, Bucky seemed to also be shifting his weight a little here.

“We want to apologize," Natasha continued. "Profusely, actually.”

“My my, whatever for, you colossal fucking bag of dicks,” Ah, there was your Hulk coming through.

“Well, firstly, it was a hammer’s approach to a situation that was a _lot_ more delicate than we realized," Steve filled in, taking the reigns. "You’re not indestructible, and we took it too far Y/N. We hurt you. I never— _we_ never wanted that to happen.”

“Why do I feel like some of those are Tony’s words?" you spat back with an eye roll. "And what was the end goal here, Rogers. You pushed me to the edge to what? See if I would jump off? See if I was already too far gone? You could have just _fucking_ asked me.”

It was with great effort that you didn’t ball your fists and start swinging at the pair. They were supposed to have you back and be your backup. And again, a bitter taste welled up at the thought, reminding you of the hours you spent trying to swallow the taste down last night. 

The fact was you _wanted_ this family. You knew you did, you always had. Why did you think you had agreed to go with Steve those years ago? Because being alone was _hard_. Having no tether, no connectivity just wasn't something you wanted anymore. You had decided that you wanted something else, and that started you down the path that led you here.

But it was becoming clear just how their hurt and mistrust weighed against your desire for something more than just yourself.

“We didn’t think we would reasonably get a truthful response,” said Nat. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re complicated, Y/N.”

Bucky actually scoffed a little at that from his position across the room.

“Fine,” she added, throwing Bucky a glance. “Maybe to the few of us _without_ shared experience.”

“Wait, you think I’m uncomplicated?” you directed surprisedly at Bucky, getting sidetracked. “The past weeks would beg to differ, I think?” 

Everything in your life was insanely complicated right now. You felt like you’d never shake the stress headache at everything going on. In a couple weeks so much had somehow gotten flipped around.

“I think you’ve been honest about everything from the start,” Bucky stated, hard eyes on the redhead and blonde by the door. “Their whole plan was a sick goddamn joke. You are honest and they didn’t need to fucking _test_ you.”

Steve and Nat did not ignore that last line, their gaze stuck to him Bucky before glancing between each other. Nat paused before trying to put the situation delicately.

“That hasn’t necessarily been _our_ experience, Bucky," she reasoned. "You see her— or you’ve spent a lot of time with her. Maybe your understanding runs a little deeper in this kind of thing than ours might.”

No one brought up the fact that Bucky had only been here _weeks_ and you had been with the Team for _years_. 

But she did make a point you agreed with: he did see you. And you saw him. You knew the beast that ran underneath each other’s skin and how to speak to both the person and it. What you always had to explicitly state to the Team, you didn’t always have to with Bucky. Maybe they couldn’t see you as well as someone like him. Someone cut from the same cloth.

... Wait, did Steve tell Nat about finding you in Bucky’s bed before? And shit, you were sitting there now first thing in the morning, weren’t you.

_Ugh._

You hoped that they both hadn’t read too much into _that_ and what _definitely_ wasn’t happening between you two at night.

Nat stepped further into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, hand on your knee. She just exuded a calm presence, while your back was still up.

“Listen, we _trust_ you. We won’t ever handle this situation the same way again. But to us, it was needed. You have to concede that seeing you in that state was a shock," Nat gave a side eye to Bucky. "But next time I guess we’ll just consult our resident Y/N expert, Bucky.”

Bucky rolled his eyes dismissively but again shifted uncomfortably in place. 

“So we have a peace offering of sorts," she continued. "We need to take them down before they come here again. It’s been too long already. Whatever tech they had been developing, Tony still can’t figure out how they crippled us. So we find them and take them out.”

“Just not by killing them,” Steve added awkwardly, a shifting apologetic look on his face.

“ _Thanks_ ," you huffed out. "Unnecessary, but it’s great to see where you’re at.”

Nat ignored him, leaning in to catch your eyes again.

“You in?” Nat asked.

That was the question of the hour, huh?

You paused, your eyes flitting between hers as you released the death hold you had on the blue cotton sheets, folding them into your lap.

“Undecded,” you said honestly, but didn’t go any further. 

No one pushed it. You yourself didn’t know where you stood on the whole Team thing yet.

And that ached.

“We’re going back, going to look at the base,” Steve said.

“Even though they _won’t_ be there,” Nat countered, clearly having made this point before as she turned back to him. “They showed their hand to us. Hydra and the rest of that hit team wouldn’t be stupid enough to go back to those bases.”

“I think they would," Steve countered. "They didn’t complete what they set out to do. The wanted to lure her there and that would still be their best bet, considering they haven’t come back here yet.”

“They tried to lure her there and _failed_ , Steve," Nat pointed out. "That’s why they came here. They are going to regroup and make a new plan, one that we won’t know about.”

“Then we better start at a place where we know they were. You don’t know what they could’ve left behind that we could find, now that we know who we’re dealing with.”

During this whole exchange, your eyes were on Bucky, while his didn’t leave Nat. Something possessive bubbled up in you along with curiosity, making you all prickly and perturbed. 

As his face started to fall, you noticed that he looked incredibly uncomfortable eyeing her sitting there on his bed. You gave him a “what’s up look”, furrowing your brow and shaking you head a little. He sighed before interrupting to the debating duo, standing a little taller and nodding to the door.

“Can we talk about this later, and not in my room?”

Steve paused a moment from their argument but by Nat’s look you knew it wasn’t over.

“Yeah, sure Buck,” Steve agreed.

You waited for an answer to the look you gave him as the two filed out, both assuming that you would be staying put. 

“I just don’t like people in here,” he said to you once they were gone.

“I’m here in all the time and not once have you looked or said anything about feeling awkward," you pointed out. "Violent, definitely. Uncomfortable? No.”

“You’re not people," he said, lips pressing together after.

“That a compliment or an insult, Barnes?” you said it in jest but it actually got you wondering. 

What _was_ this all to him? 

Even before this whole blow up he was stoic to the Team, not all too easy with suddenly being thrown into this oddball mismatched group. But you and he had an understanding from the beginning, so it shouldn’t be surprising that you weren’t thought of in the same category. You had eased into something actually comfortable with him. Something you remembered from the day before that you really didn’t want to be without. 

But what did that “comfort” mean to him? Were you just ex-Hydra, bonded over an implied past? Or did your almost constant companionship over the last weeks mean little to him? The only value in you simply a means to sleep at night? 

“You’re- I’m just _comfortable_ with you, alright? Maybe I just like you around,” he said a little exasperated. 

His words instantly quelled the questions in your mind, his answer much better than you could’ve guessed, however simple. You smiled and left it alone.

Remembering the first time in his room while he was under the influence of his nightmare, Bucky didn’t push you out or away. Then when you came in for the first non-nightmare walk up call to put on records and relax together, he wasn’t awkward either. Since then it had been all but effortless.

You definitely took the compliment.

* * *

That evening Bucky guessed you had made your decision.

You and Bucky had been in the training room for the better part of the afternoon, and he assumed you were avoiding the Team. Not that he particularly wanted to be around them either. You had had no choice but to confront one of them not long after Steve and Nat left though.

He had been surprised when you came out of your room later that morning after talking with Tony, the next one in line to apologize to you. 

Bucky had been sitting in the hallway for some time during your exchange, waiting directly opposite to your door. For a long time he debated coming in, less so to hear what was being said and more really to just punch Tony in the face. 

But this was clearly not his place to intrude, and he did his best to choke down the emotions that kept rising up like venomous bile. It was getting harder and harder to ignore what you brought to the surface of him, but he kept fighting nonetheless. 

Bucky remembered all too clearly Tony’s words and the look on your face as he ripped you apart. Maybe the Team couldn’t see it, but Bucky could. Ghostly skin, eyes filled with fear, body almost flinching in pain as he brought up mission after mission, breath held in your chest, skin stretched across your knuckles impossibly tight above clenched fists. You were fully human, not Hydra in that moment. Like the blind, they couldn’t see any of it and Tony wouldn’t stop. Bucky had seen red, fiery and untamed.

As Tony exited your room, he acknowledged Bucky with an “At ease, Kevin Costner.”

If looks could kill, Bucky’s would’ve ended Tony before he took his first step out of your room. If you had needed too, he knew you would’ve punched or otherwise harmed Tony. And again, despite knowing you could handle this yourself in this and any physical or emotional situation (you’d proven both, even if the last time he would've fought tooth and nail with the Team from the get-go of the conversation), he didn’t want you to _have_ too. You both had done enough fighting.

It was a bit longer until your door opened again, Bucky standing in front of it, waiting for you

As you stood before him, he tried to assess you while holding your stare. Your skin was little more ghostly than it had been, hair damp from a shower you had obviously just taken, body still tense. He tried to hold your gaze in the most non-sappy reassuring way he could muster. He hated when people looked at him in a condescending or pitiful way, so he did his best for you. This was new territory, but he would try for you... Though was pretty sure he failed miserably.

“Hey doll,”

His greeting was soft, and so was yours.

“Hey Soldier.”

“I didn’t hear any yelling, or Tony’s throat being ripped opened,” he remarked.

“No, not this time,” You sounded completely exhausted. Fighting was easier for both of you than dealing with emotions. “But we’ll see. He explained, apologized, and promised not to do it again. The bastard.”

“He wouldn’t survive trying that again,” His words came out more threatening than he wanted you to hear. But you didn’t shy away from the intense cold his words brought, you just smiled wearily.

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up. I’d end him before you could cross the room.”

“We’ll see.”

You stood on the spot, exhaustion swaying you ever so slightly. 

“Did you want to go to bed?” He offered, not fully thinking it through until the words left his mouth. He knew you barely slept last night and were clearly fading now. Quickly, he backtracked. “I mean, just, you don’t have to be out here. You could try and sleep.”

“I would like nothing more than to sleep with you,” You _definitely_ hadn’t thought through your words. “But I’d never leave your bed.”

Bucky nodded, trying not to dwell on that too much or how his stomach tightened at those words. Again he swallowed down the rising emotions that threatened to take him under. Only just barely was he able to push them aside.

So instead you two shook off the weariness to run and swim and spar throughout the day, ignoring most of the world and the troubles in your life. Somewhat.

“What would you have done?” you asked him, panting with hands on your hips. 

You took a couple of steps back as the two of you silently agreed to take a break from sparring. Arm and all he found you a fighting equal, able to premeditate almost his every move. Not even Steve could best him without his shield, but somehow sparring with you was more equally footed. He figured maybe it was the Hydra training, or maybe you were just _that_ good. It was oddly infuriating and thrilling.

“Fucking punched Tony in his mouth,” _And with my metal arm_ , he added internally.

“No no,” Still trying to catch your breath. He sarcastically appreciated it was at least _tiring_ for you. “I mean with The Black.”

“Not have cleaned up as thoroughly,” Bucky muttered. He immediately regretted it, but your slight smirk wiped away that worry. 

Again, it took him by surprise how now it was so easy to talk with you. He wondered vaguely if you would have reacted the same if everyone else was here. He found it frustrating that you could be you around him, but from here on out would certainly have a mask up around the Team. How could you not in front of a group of supposed friends that didn’t trust you?

“You know what I mean," you said, pursed lips and slight gleam in your eye. "Taking Frenz down, killing them all.” 

Just like your smile, you said that easily too. He knew you wouldn’t have put it to the others like that. They probably would’ve jumped all over you, thinking you were Hydra again. Goddamn idiots.

He knew you didn’t regret it, knew you would’ve probably done it the same if done all over again.

_Good._  

They deserved that and worse.

Clearly this was something he had to let go, but it still burned in him a little too much. And if you could remain composed about it, he damn well better try.

“Are you looking for approval?” he asked, head tilting back and eye narrowing slightly at you. Why you would need anything from him, he didn’t know. So far you were pretty unstoppable; he doubted you really needed anything from anyone.

_Maybe just me, at night,_ his voice in his head said.

Bucky's stomach tightened again at that, in that pleasant but aching way that was becoming synonymous with being around you. He threw the feeling and thought away quickly.

“Just tips,” you shrugged. “They’re out there, and we’ll be going after them hard now.”

“So you’ve made up your mind to join them,” he said, nodding to the door and the Avengers somewhere beyond it. “On the mission?”

“Yeah… I mean,” But you paused, taking a drink of water like you were biding your time. Bucky watching you carefully, guessing at the next words. 

“I want the Team to join in, I do,” you admitted. “But I’m not… I’m just not _wired_ the same. If there is someone to fight, particularly someone who is threatening me, I beat them down until they stay down. The characters I used to deal with… What they would have done to me if I hadn’t? And how can I unlearn what Hydra burned into me when I failed?”

Bucky understood all too well, swallowing down the phantom pain inflicted on him for his failures.

Your voiced lowered a little as you closed the distance between you, despite the training room being completely empty save you two.

“Bucky, I don’t always do it cleanly, they were right about that. I have self-control, I just don’t always feel like I _need_ to control myself. I could have just shot them all. I could have just knocked them unconscious. I get that they are upset and they wanted complete and undeniable reassurance that I was still _me_ but… this is me. That? What I did? That was all me. I can’t blame that on anyone else.”

“And?” Bucky questioned, looking down to you as you shrugged.

“And nothing. It was either do that or die. If it was someone else, maybe I would have had the brain power to find another option. But not after their threats, not when I’ve seen them do it before.”

You rubbed your temple like you were trying to keep the memory at bay. Bucky had the mind not to probe that one. As you had said before, you both hadn’t even gotten into war stories yet.

His hand jerked at his side a little, the oddest urge to lift up your downcast head almost taking over. But he set his jaw and stopped himself.

“You waited for a long time before making a move against them. You were thinking it through,” he said, taking a step back and sidestepping the last thing you had said. You looked at him, knowing he had purposely let it lie with something he thought was thankfulness or relief behind your eyes.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So you don’t need approval or tips,” Bucky stated, reaching the bench to drink from his water bottle.

“Ah, I’ve mastered the art of murder huh?” you said, trying to lighten everything back up. 

Things had been heavy enough lately. But the fact that you had done it with the topic of _murder,_ he found more than just a little humourous. 

“The bodies of the evil are my medium and the communal living space? My canvas.”

“Alright, alright," he smirked. "Back to it. Are you’re going to join them?”

You paused, fiddling with your water bottle and looked him over, eyeing him slowly with calculating eyes. “You wouldn’t. You’d go after them yourself.” 

“Maybe I would do it alone," Bucky shrugged. “But that doesn’t make it a good idea.”

“Hey,” you started softly, closing the distance again. 

Your hand moved to his cheek, your touch feather light and thumb ever so gently moving across his cheekbone. Immediately the smell of your skin and soft expression made him want to close the little space left between you, pulling you in like he did at night.

"From now on, you fight, I fight. Got it, Barnes?”

“Yeah, doll,” he swallowed.

* * *

“You’d think your serum pumped body would’ve healed that by now.”

“Hmm?” You hadn’t realized Bucky had been drifting to sleep in the dark room. 

The two of you were holding each there tightly, your nightly routine coming as naturally as breathing now. Maybe his life wasn’t as much of a hell as it had been, but the deep relief he felt at night now was its own kind of intoxicating.

“Your arm?” Came your voice. Bucky could feel the breath of your words on his chest.

A bruise had laced up his arm, red and purple but much faded from the burst of colour it had been. He hadn’t really noticed.

“Didn’t like how they were talking to you, doll.” he whispered into your hair. “Thor held me back.” 

“I know, you already told me. That was kinda sweet Buck.”

“Wouldn’t say it was sweet.” He’d been fucking enraged. Though he had a hard time letting it go, consciousness was getting hazier and he immediately forgot about what he was angry about.

“Well,” you muttered, nuzzling into his chest deeper, the heat a sweet kind of stifling, making it blissfully impossible for him to remember what being put on ice felt like. With you so close all he could remember was warmth. “If he or anyone touches you again, I’ll just smack ‘em. Maybe stab them. You still got a knife on you most of the time, right?”

“Yeah, only you.” he murmured distantly, voice low and heavy with sleep.

“Only me?”

“Only you can touch me.”

He couldn’t picture touching anyone else in any meaningful way, even a handshake. That specifically was more because of the metal arm but still.

But you were different. Only at night when you curled up under him falling asleep in complete peace, could he entertain the thought. The thought that touching you, having you here with him, was the most comfort he could ever remember feeling. 

Your touch wasn’t biting or harsh or revolting to him. It didn’t conjure up memories of pain. It was soft and understood him, fitting perfectly into him. It wasn’t capable of hardening back into the stone soldier that Hydra made you. Even if the Team couldn’t see that. 

Bucky had failed on more than one occasion not to let his emotions bubble up to the surface when it came to you, but tonight in the stillness of his bedroom, he let go.

Bucky’s skin and body may run hot, but his soul ran cold. Half unconscious, for once he gave into the heat of emotion that you sparked in him. 

It was warmth and comfort and security. It was understanding and home in a way he didn’t think he could experience, much less want too. But you had wrapped him in contentment and care, the way he wrapped you into him now. And in you was contained all this and more than he couldn’t put into words. What he thought he could never have. But night after night he got to hold you and for a moment in his life pretend that he could.

It was beyond caring; it was _consuming_. 

He would feel the weight of a late night wander through his emotions (one that he never let himself take) in the morning, weighing intensely on his chest. But for the moment it was a private and sleepy indulgence.

“Oh… okay, Buck. Goodnight,” you whispered, voice sounding more awake this time. But Bucky was too far into sleep to answer back.

* * *

“This seems all too familiar," you said into the comm.

“Hopefully we’ll have better luck than before," responded Steve.

“I’m sure we will, Steve,” you said. 

You didn’t feel particularly stellar about this mission plan so _acting_ like it was was the next best thing, right? You had been debating this decision, about joining the Team on this, right until you stepped on the quinjet earlier. 

But they were your family. And maybe they didn’t want you sometimes or couldn’t trust you or even hurt you deeper than you thought they could, but you were tougher than all of that. And you decided not to deny yourself this. You deserved a family, even if they acted like dicks. 

But what had made the decision final was the fact that you realized you had acted like a murderous dick first (however justified) so maybe you were even now.

“Alright, everyone check in with your location,” You sat down in the pilot’s chair, pulling up to a touchscreen monitor with everyone’s vitals.

The plan was simple like the first one had been: everyone enters their assigned base at once. The only difference was now there were four bases- Vier Gliedmaßen, or “Four Limbs”- that they were going into, so there weren’t as many covering each base, even after calling in all the M.I.A. Avengers back.

As agreed, you were on jet duty. And “agree” was used _loosely_ here. You had _not_ been thrilled with that part of the plan. You would have been fantastic bait for this mission, but more for their peace of mind than yours, you hung back as command central.

One by one the voice of your chosen family came through the comm line.

“Tony here, base three. And can our base be called the Left Arm? Just a preference. I do like a leftie.”

“Wanda, base three.”

“Vision, base three.” 

“C’mon guys, a little solidarity here. You meant Left Arm.”

“Tony, cut the shit,” you retorted. And that was the most you had spoken to him since his apology.

“Thor, earth’s mightiest hero is accounted for at base two. Hulk is also here, somewhat less mighty.”

“Sam, base two, keeping Heckle and Jeckle in order.”

“Rogers, base four.”

“Bucky, base four.”

“Natasha, base one.”

“Clint, bringing up the rear at base one.”

“Okay we all know the plan,” you started, watching everyone’s green blips on the screen as they moved towards their bases. “Nat and Clint, if you need back up, I’m your woman.”

“Ten four, Y/N,” Clint agreed.

Picking who was going where had been easy enough: Thor and Banner couldn’t exactly go into the tunnels, and after hammering (literally) part of that base last time, there would be some substantial rubble to get through. And if anyone could survive a mountain falling them it was those two. Sam was there for air support as that mountain base had a substantial hangar.

Base one had been pretty basic, but a good set up for Clint and Natasha to weave through easily and silently take anyone down. No need for special equipment there.Base three was the tech base. Tony was itching to get inside and get another look, wanting desperately to see if the tech that beat his own system was developed there. It was also supposedly armed to the teeth and more or less locked down, so Vision and Wanda backed him up. It was a larger base so they would take on different sections.

Base four, which you hadn’t been too besides one vague memory of a single room long ago, was given to Steve and Bucky. They’d have to get through the tunnels and if a fight broke out there, it would be close quarters. They fought together well, you remembered, seeing them team up the last time you were on the field. And the base itself was nothing overly special. Well, a couple levels of prison cells and torture chambers to experiment on people wasn’t special to _you_ , anyway.

“Okay, if you need back-up hit the main comm," you said. "You’ve been linked to your individual team otherwise. The goal is to get in, assess, confirm it as empty, or if not call me in to kill them all.”

“Not _funny_ , Y/N.”

“I’m willingly on jet duty so I get _one,_ ” Again trying to keep thing light, though the rock in your stomach was not making that easy. “Really though, call me in if you need back-up. They’ve had time to set some nasty traps if they felt inclined. Good luck, Team.”

“Well, be back soon enough and this will be over,” Steve assured you, switching to his team's comm line.

“Please,” you implored with a sigh. You wanted this whole chapter of your life over and done with. “And Bucky? Watch out for Steve. We all know he’s quite the risk-taker.”

“Acknowledged.”

You frowned alone in the empty jet at his single word.

Since yesterday he had been acting distant. Maybe it was walking into a Hydra base or being asked to fight again. He was needed though, as they were stretched across four different arenas.

But you couldn’t shake that somehow the cause of it was actually you. You had no idea why and it was driving you _crazy_. It was little things like not being the in same room as you, not eating with you, short responses, and seemingly guarded expressions you once thought were a thing only reserved for everyone _but_ you.

Maybe it was simply because you had agreed to do this with the Team. Bucky was none too keen on them lately, and you knew if you had asked that he would’ve gone with you just the two of you to get this done. Which is why you didn’t. He didn’t want the fight as much as you, it would’ve been too much to ask of him.

But instead of dwelling on this even more than you had been for the past day, you focused back to the mission at hand.

Everyone checked in every few minutes, detailing their entrance to the base and progress. Tony’s team had a bit of a rougher time, dodging missiles and breaking through shields, even though there had been no indications of either to be active. There, sure. But not live and ready to kill or block the trio. Though it seemed to be automated at least from what they could tell.

But no sign of human activity on any front. It made you uneasy. You were catching yourself flipping your knife in your hand over and over.

You figured there was a big chance that the enemy would just come out of the woods to get you, alone in the jet while literally everyone was off at a base. But sensors were showing no real movement outside, and the Team had strategically planned to keep you a distance away.

“Well, that’s enough of doing nothing,” you said to yourself.

Gripping the wheel with both hands, you don’t bother to buckle in as you smoothly lifted the quinjet off of the ground and straight up into the air. The engines whirled and tree brnaches swayed drastically as you got airbourne.

“I’m moving to location two. Got bored of the view over here. How’s it looking base one?”

“Quiet,” Nat said, low. Quiet from her didn’t mean bad, just cautious.

“Yeah, not loving the vibe in here much,” Clint said, mirroring her tone. Okay, that meant something. Clint usually wasn’t so concerned about being quiet.

“Let me know when you’ve engaged. I can be there in under twenty.” 

You collected your thoughts about the last time you were at base one. Mostly you had just called out the Hydra agents to the exterior, but had some basic knowledge of the interior. You decided if called in that you would pull the same tactic and call the enemy to you, not so keen on taking the super spy approach of stealth and quiet.

Moving the jet through the black, moonless sky, a sudden flash of white light momentarily blinded you. Collecting yourself you immediately looked down to the screen monitoring the team. All green blips. All okay.

“Thor,” you switched to their private channel. “Was that lightning strike from you?”

No response. You eyes stayed glued to the monitor. All green.

“Sam, Thor isn’t responding, what’s your status?… Sam?” The green blinking continued.

Okay, no time for this. You got on the main comm. “I’ve lost communication with base two. Everyone check in, now.”

All you heard was the buzz of silence on the other end. Your pulse quickened exponentially as you switched through the comm channels, trying to reach anyone.

“Bucky, come in now. Nat? Come in…. Clint, come in… Steve, respond! Shit!” 

Another flash erupted in the sky, again blinding white. In the distance, you heard thunder. Or was that Thor? Or the Hulk bringing down the mountain?… Or a missile exploding over Tony’s head? 

_Shit!_

“Tony, come in… Vision, respond! Wanda respond! Shit _… Barnes, answer your damn comm!_ ” Standing now you turned the jet around, trying to find a flat patch to land in the rocky, tree-covered terrain.

But a thought hit you. Punching the stabilizers you pressed the small screen of the sleek black band on your wrist, courtesy of the Stark tech department. A little green blip flashed on its side.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., download all available schematics of the Vier Gliedmaßen tunnels to my tracking bracelet. Where is the nearest tunnel entrance and where is the closest base it leads too?”

“Download has been completed Y/N," came the A.I. "If you land a quarter mile forty-five degrees south-east, you will find the nearest tunnel entrance, leading to base four.” 

Steve and Bucky. Good.

“Fly this thing there for me, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” You left the cockpit and marched determinedly through the jet.

“Can do, Y/N.” she affirmed.

You snatched up your small pack and threw it on the jet’s middle table, ripping open the zipper and pulling out the gear you needed. Gun and knives strapped to you, you debated gearing up with some more intense artillery.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., how far from the tunnel entrance to base four using the quickest known route.”

“About fifteen kilometres, Y/N.”

“Shit.” 

You’d be packing light after all. You should be able to run that in fifteen minutes, if you were going top speed? It was a stretch but you didn’t have much choice. Factor in a probably in an uneven tunnel, in a complete blackout though?

Okay, yeah. That’s exactly what you’d do. And you’d get to Steve and Bucky in time before anything bad happened. You would take down the enemy and they would fucking beg you for their lives once you were done.

Your resolve kicked in and immediately there was nothing more to think about. You knew the enemy would see you coming a mile away if you landed the jet down near any of the bases. And maybe you liked how your normal approach was a bit of an attention grabber, but without knowing if or how they potentially engaged or incapacitated the Team, it was better to go with less of a battering ram way to do it. And whatever that lightning was in the sky, you didn’t trust it.

You always preferred more of a ground approach anyways, and at least through the catacombs of tunnels you may have an element of surprise. Not a great plan, but your decision was made.

As the jet slowly landed, you tried the comm one more time.

“Bucky… Steve… whatever’s happening, I’m coming. I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t you dare fucking die!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kevin Costner was a reference to "The Bodyguard". Hope you enjoyed darlings!


	8. Down We Go

The tunnel was intensely musty, completely pitch black, and uneven in all respects. And running top speed through it was a fucking challenge here. You might not be as “super” of a super soldier as the two men you were running towards, but after your years with Hydra you doubted you would pass a drug test. 

But you still weren’t a bat. And navigating this blind was disorientating. You did have a small disk-shaped light strapped to your shoulder to somewhat guide you, but with your speed and the sweat in your eyes, it was not enough to spare you a lot of cuts and bruises. Coupled with the fact that you were going so fast and jostling so much, you basically saw what was in front of you only as you were running passed it.

Dodging under a low beam, you raced forward, eyes only half on the terrain and mostly on spotting any traps laid out for you. This one went right to the base so it would be stupid not to set something. 

Unless they wanted you there.

You grunted, bring your knees up swiftly towards your chest for a moment as you jumped, trying not to fall as the floor suddenly dropped down a couple feet. You landed- not gracefully by any stretch- without breaking anything though, so win.

Suddenly you skidded roughly to a stop, one leg low in front of you and one bent, hands on the ground bracing yourself. Up ahead there was light. You checked your tracker and saw you were almost there, just another small stretch after a sharp turn. That was what you were seeing ahead of you now.

_Okay, get your head in the game here._

Far too slowly for your liking, you walked forward, eyes darting over every inch of the murky, dusty space. It gave you time to calm your panting breath down somewhat.

As you reached the sharp turn you crouched low and looked cautiously around the corner, just the slimmest sliver of your profile visible around the corner. If anyone was there, they would be expecting someone to appear at a normal height, not so far down. It would give them pause before shooting.

But the space was empty. Just another dirty, dusty hallway. So you kept walking, small machine gun out and ready to fire.

You walked like this for some time, heading deeper and deeper until you were at the end of the tunnel and at the base proper. Stopping by the large metal door leading to an empty foyer type room, you pulled up the schematics you had of this base before putting a hand up to the door.

Patchy at best, it looked like you were on the top of two levels, the bottom being much larger than the top. You took in a steady breath, gun ready with your finger just a hair above the trigger. You slowly opened the door and began your mission.

Steve and Bucky had probably made quick work of this floor, set up and looking like an abandoned office out of the eighties. Nothing was out of place in the oddly empty space: no bullet holes or shells from Bucky’s gun, no slashes in the wall from Steve’s shield. And no bodies or blood. Just dingy floor tiles, off-white peeling walls, and the distinct smell of stale neglect.

Your search of this floor was thorough and as quick as you could make it. No traps to your knowledge, and if you had to escape the same way you came in, you knew the best route to do it fast.

A grimy stairwell with railing and steps slick with moisture lead you down to the next level. This one was quite different. The upper level would have been just mundane offices at some point, but the level below was where the experiments happened.

This base had been used largely for imprisonment and human experimentation. You had been here before and from what you remembered, it wasn’t pretty. You didn’t dwell on that much. It wouldn’t help here, as you only had one memory of one room.

Barred cells lined some hallways, others were lined with thick metal doors, their white-painted exteriors a wet and dingy grey-brown with rusted reddy-brown walls that matched the dried old blood on the tables and chairs within. Age had rotted this place, long forgotten and out of use.

The more hallways you slunk down silently, peering into cells with a laser focus, the more you felt your anxiety creeping up on you. And for you on a mission? That was not typical.

_This isn’t right_.

You couldn’t place what was out of place in all of this. So you kept moving, as silent as the still air around you. 

Eventually after some minutes moving through this base like a ghost, you got to the last room in the whole base. It was the furnace room, a large and a complicated mess of pipes and big towering tanks. Again, nothing there. Just that terrifying sound that silence had when it closed in on you.

You had stopped in your tracks by the far wall behind one of those metal tanks to try and collect your thoughts.

_This isn’t right._

Okay, no signs anywhere that Steve and Bucky had even _entered_ this base. You knew they had though, as they had said as much before the comms went out. Everyone got into their respective base. 

So what the hell? Had they left after their comms went out? But that didn’t sit right with you. They would’ve signaled somehow, figuring you would dig your way through to the base in a heartbeat after not hearing from them.

_This isn’t right._

You had no facts, no visuals, no way of figuring out what happened. All you had was a feeling.

So since that was all you had, that was what you focused on. 

Yes, this was a creeping fucking place and the silence was all but comforting, but you had been through dank dangerous places before. It was second nature to you and you knew that you shouldn’t be feeling this way. You had too much practice in these kind of places. 

_THIS ISN’T RIGHT._

So what’s wrong with it? The emptiness? The cells? The tables with dead blood crusted onto the straps that once held those poor souls down?…

“Shit,” your voice echoed suddenly and loudly in the dank, dark room. "Fuck!"

No, no, no, no, _no_ , _no!_

You ran top speed, not caring to be quiet or careful anymore, traps or lurking enemies be damned. You took off as fast as your legs could take back towards a hallway lined with those big metal doors. The ones where countless people were held and tortured, like you had been at one time.

You looked in the first cell, then the second, then again down the whole hallway. Running through to the next section, you did the same, quickly taking in the haunted rooms. 

And every room you looked in confirmed what was wrong.

Every room may have had a different setup, layout, door, or purpose, but every room in the whole complex was painted the same colour. A red rusty brown. 

You swallowed hard and worked to pull up that single memory you had of Vier Gliedmaßen. You had actually dreamt of it not that long ago, that nightmare being the worst of them.

It was the one that featured Bucky, standing in front of you in a concrete-lined cell, with a small barred door the only way out. On the other side of that door were eyes watching, notes scribbled on their notepads as you screamed for help. Not for them to help you exactly, but for Bucky too. Though he never did.

He was hurting you, holding you there while you screamed to be let go, to go back home. But you also didn’t want to leave the cell. You didn’t want to face _them_ again. Impossibly they were far worse than Bucky was.

You didn’t know his real name then, just called him Soldier like they did. Calling Bucky the fake name he had given you always made him hurt you more. You figured he probably killed the man whose name he stole.

You eventually made a name for all of them, the soldiers that came to hurt you again and again. But it wasn’t them- the soldiers- that did it; it was Hydra. They were the ones you hated. They were the ones who did this. And you would rather stay in that cell with the soldiers than face the horrors that they did to you in the name of experimentation. Or the horrors that they made you inflict on others.

The cell they held you in was wet, dank, and concrete. It was painted green, making your bruised, bloodied, and beaten skin look sickly, and Bucky look like some monster, with shadows dancing terrifyingly across his face.

But not a rusted red-brown.

Your memories, however compartmentalized to stay sane, were intact. 

They rarely wiped your mind, needing your… _creativity_ in the field, along with the ominous threats and repercussions over the years to have the needed weight. They just pumped you full of something to set you loose, or keep you docile, or keep you in agony and begging them for some relief before it started all over again. Day after day. Decade after decade.

You remembered them calling this place “Vier Gliedmaßen”, the name sticking to your mind as you heard it a few times through the years, conjuring up visions of that cell and that terror. You remembered the overwhelming dirt smell. The dank water pooling on the floor under your bare feet. There was no light beyond the artificial light that patchily lit everything.

You knew the base must be underground, so naturally it had to be this one. Right?

You mentally ran through the other bases and their descriptions from the team. The mountainside base was huge and airy, big enough to easily fit the Hulk, with every room broad, no cells at all, just large rooms of weapons and air support vehicles.

The tech base was one floor, no lower level at all, made of glass and steel. It was half underground but half above. The whole base, start to finish had windows on the upper half of the rooms. They could have updated it? But unlikely. Tech development was never held in the same spot as experimentation as they were resolute to keep it under strict lock and key. You had never been in a tech base while under Hydra’s influence. They wouldn’t have had you or anyone like you _near_ a base like that.

The last base was the one you had been to with Steve and Bucky originally, and nothing there rung a bell at all. It was all above ground, besides the power generator in the basement.

Unless that wasn’t the last base.

Again, you took off running. 

“To anyone who can hear, there is another undiscovered base," you said, stomach dropping more with every step. "Repeat, there is another base we _didn’t_ know about.”

You took the stairs three at a time, running up to the top floor as soon as possible. You needed to figure this out fast.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit!_

“Bucky, Steve… I’ll find you," you practically shouted into the comm. " _I will fucking find you_. And good luck to anyone listening in that gets in my fucking way!” 

If Hydra had captured them and were listening in, they would know you were on your way now.

_Good._

You wanted them to know you were coming. You would kill the lot of them before they realized, and you wanted them to know it was you that sliced them open. And if they so much as touched Steve or Bucky it would be so much worse.

* * *

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., ” you snapped, barely registering the blur of the base as you ran through it. "Tell me you’re still here,

A little light lit up on the wristband. “Here for you, Y/N.”

“Tell me you know where the team is.”

“No, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you breathed heavy, running down to a corridor that held the most exits into the tunnels. “Tell me you at least can still see their vitals."

Your small screen lit up, but the blinking green lights were gone, just grey blinking circles where they had once been. “I can’t seem to find them, Y/N. They’ve vanished.”

“Even Tony?”

“I can’t connect with him.”

“Okay, shit,” you said, boots screeching loudly to a halt as you reached your destination. “The maps of the tunnels, I still have them?”

A map of the tunnels appeared on your wristband. “If there was a base, somewhere in a similar size to the four different Vier Gliedmaßen, where are possibilities within the tunnels?”

“There are four hundred and sixty-four possibilities.”

You took a furious breath in through your nose before strapping your gun back to your thigh holster in favour of unsheathing a knife from the back of your belt. You began turning it and playing with it absently, focusing your frantic energy as best you could.

“Okay, next question, what tunnel leads down the farthest into the ground, that has a dead end?”

“There is one," Finally some decent news. "And an entrance to it is down this hallway, third door to your left, and is the second exit on your left.”

You bolted immediately, kicking in the door, a terribly loud clang echoing everywhere.

“Chances that something base sized could be under it?” 

“It’s definitely possible, Y/N.” But not guaranteed.

You reached the door, adrenalin begging you to keep up the pace but you stopped for a moment. Pulling up the map, it did not look like a fun ride. Some sections were almost a straight drop down and incredibly narrow.

“Y/N, I will lose contact with you partially down the tunnel. It’s too deep for me to reach you.”

“Understood,” you said tersely. Fuck Tony and his tech right now. Your heart briefly constricted as you made a promise that you, he, and everyone else on the Team would live for you to tell him that in person.

Then down into the black again you went, praying your hunch was right.

* * *

Three kilometres in you hit a first narrow patch. The tunnel had been on a steady decline but it suddenly angled down, the walls getting incredibly close together. It was completely black besides the little shoulder light that bumped and moved with you, causing your focus to be hard to keep. The air itself was dead, stale and it felt like you were breathing in not oxygen but exclusively dust and dirt. Your lungs felt heavy with the weight of it, making this all the more unbearably stifling.

Squeezing through and letting gravity do its part, you let your body fall through, only slight bracing yourself with your hands and feet against the walls. Rock and more dust flew at you, entering your airways and pelleting your face. You wanted speed over safety here though so you kept it up.

Depending on who specifically had taken Steve and Bucky, Hydra could do a lot of damage in the time since you heard from them. The cuts and scraps that riddled you would be _nothing_ compared to that, so you refused to stop.

You hit bottom only making it a few more feet on the rocky ground before you reached another steep decline. This was _far_ more narrow.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” 

No response. 

You would have to be the sole judge on if you fit through. But honestly, this was the only option. In your mind, despite the incredibly _huge_  possibility this was wrong, to you this was somehow the only way to save them.

Tony had mapped out tunnel after tunnel, but this one wasn’t on the radar. It led nowhere, and they were only looking for exits or tunnels leading to the bases at the time.

In the black, you mentally braced yourself for this.

It would not do much with the tunnel walls so close to your body to get claustrophobic now. You didn’t think of the unknown shrinking space below you or the untold tons of dirt and rock above your head. 

_Far deeper than six feet under_ , you thought before shutting that down and focusing.

You got into the best position you could to try and see down through the narrow passageway angling down below you. It looks like it was narrowest at the opening, only a few metres until it opened up, if only slightly.

_This better be fucking stable enough._

You shimmied yourself into the opening and began your descent further into the darkness. Struggle was an understatement. You felt the walls pushing your breath back into your mouth, feeling the unrelenting pressure of the dirt covering you on every single inch of skin. You could only move your hands and feet, while your legs and torso were pressed flush against the wall, like toothpaste in the tube. 

As your hips hit hard against the narrow passage, you tried to force yourself through with your severely limited movement. 

With your fucking weapons strapped to your legs and body, this was _not_ going to work. You contorted yourself to try and get a hand down to your hips. Your fingers fumbled in the darkness for a minute before you heard a small click. Your weapons belt that hung loosely around your hips was free.

But the guns at your thighs were in the way and would have to go too.

_I better get these back._

You forced your hand painfully down your body, fingers only barely able to touch the clip of your gun holster. You tried and tried to force it down further but it wouldn’t budge.

This wasn’t going to be the end. You were going to do this, find them, and get out a different way. You only had to get through this tunnel.

After minutes your nail hit the clip in the right spot, loosening the holster immediately. After moving your hand over to the other thigh, you managed to get the other one undone in half the time. It hung in place, but loose. With the guns on your side able to move, you have the space to squirm your hips through. As you shimmied further, rocks and roots cutting into your sides, your now loose weapons and straps moved up as you moved down. They clung around your neck and chest as you moved, unable to get past your shoulders.

Feeling with your feet braced on the wall on the way down, you felt the cavern open up, the walls widening, leaving you dangling above an unknown length of space.

Your breathing was contracted by heat and dirt and effort, and you tried to think it through. If there was a large opening or cavern below you, it wouldn’t be that big. You hadn’t seen anything on the map. So again you continued, jaw set painfully hard in determination.

The sound of crumbling dirt and stone was your first clue that this was going to happen fast. 

Suddenly the feeling of being constricted finally ended, and immediately relief turned into overwhelming nausea as your body in a split second was falling fast through a wider tunnel.

Quickly you picked up speed, body slamming and bumping and scraping against the sides like this was one big slip-and-slide tube. 

As you slid down feet first, you were tossed and slammed against the sides of this slide. Your light was like a strobe light in the dark, being turned on and off, illuminating the sudden curving jutting walls that you couldn’t avoid. The sudden flashes were disorienting and adding to the chaos until the edge of a rock hit your shoulder, liquid warmth erupting as the light broke against your shoulder and neck. In the darkness you tumbled further, not praying you would survive, but praying that this _wasn’t_ the only way out once you hit bottom.

You held your hands and feet out against the wall, trying to brace yourself, groaning with the effort. You had on your fingerless gloves but that was not enough for the sharp stones to shred your fingers on the way down. At some point, the momentum threw you against a dirt barrier before tumbling further.

What felt like years later you finally hit the bottom, skidding to a stop with a hard, dazing knock to your head against the rough, flat ground. 

Blinking silent and slow you looked around, trying to take in your surroundings and instinctively scoping for enemies. You tried to get your breathing under control but from either the effort or pain of almost free-falling, it was hard. You stayed low, breathing hard, hand reaching to the gun at your side that was no longer there with bloodied fingers.

_Shit._

You were now in a perpendicular large tunnel declining slightly down towards a dimly glowing light source. This hallway was rounded and completely made of dirt and support beams, with tiny lights periodically placed on the walls. Compared to where you just were, this was deliciously open.

So first things first, that was your way out. Secondly, you had literally no weapons on you anymore. Between unhinging some and fall on the way down, they were gone with no sign of them anywhere.

You had the option to either turn left, up the tunnel to what you figured was an exit out, where you could catch your breath, find your team members, or stock up on weapons. Or you could turn right, down deeper into the supposed base where you had assumed Bucky and Steve were, weaponless and bleeding.

If you left now, you were sure there would be no time. You weren’t sure if it was already too late now. The tunnel could go on for kilometres for all you knew. Nothing about this had any degree of certainty to it at all. 

So you chose to save your friends.

Quietly you set off down the side of the tunnel wall, weaponless and alone.

* * *

This was it. The smell, the look, the feeling… It hadn’t changed in all these years. Wet, green, and dirty concrete lined everything. Large dark metal doors lead the way to room after room, dingy and empty. 

You swallowed down where this mentally took you. The past was coming flooding back in the worst way. You had gone in “mission-mode” after leaving the jet, focusing on your actions and not everything that this was bringing back. You tried to keep that focus.

Until you found it.

Silently you peered out around a corner as you silently exhaled. Six Hydra agents, clad in black, standing still and quiet against the wall in the shadows.

You quelled the flash of panic as you realized what this really was. What this _really_ meant.

You were here, in a Hydra base, who knows how far underground, no backup, no one knowing where you were, and no weapons besides your bloody hands to speak of. 

All you knew was that they had designed this plan all for _you_.

This was all to get you here. They wanted you back, and it was like you were running into their fucking arms.

You could wait alone and tied up for thirteen men to kill you in the comfort of the Tower, sure. But walking back into Hydra’s doors was not what you wanted. You hadn’t fully considered what this meant until now. 

If they caught you, they would _never let you go_. 

You would be their plaything for the rest of your unending life: frozen until they needed you, drugged until you complied, tortured until you broke. At the end, you had come up with a way to block them for triggering you, but they could wipe you and start again, couldn’t they? Start all over from scratch?

You would be exactly what you were all over again, what they made you. The Siren. The unhinged torturer for Hydra, insane and unstoppable. You would do again everything you had done- torture, kill, drive people mad, ruin countless innocent lives and whole governments.

_I’d be their Siren again,_ you thought with eyes wide and holding your breath.

And there would be _nothing_ that you could do to stop it if they caught you.

You pressed your back flush against the wall as hard as you could, trying to ground yourself in what this actually was about. 

This wasn’t about you.

Because if you didn’t keep going, it wouldn’t be you but _Bucky_ falling back in their hands. It wouldn't be you turning into the Siren but Bucky turning into the Winter Soldier instead.

You would’ve failed him. Like you had all of those years. You remembered the question he kept asking you when you first met and how you had failed him then too. 

So the choice was run back to Hydra or sacrifice Bucky to them.

Immediately the hair on the back of your neck rose, a shudder running through you. That would never happen. You would _never_ let them take him back.

On that courage of that thought you stood, silently stepping around the corner towards those men.


	9. No Other Way But Through

He dangled, feet only barely able to touch the ground, hanging beside his best friend. Blood mixed with dirt was smeared across their skin as hot breath expelled from them with the vain effort of trying to stand.

“The Team won’t let us… let us down Buck. We’ll be-be fine,” Steve panted and sputtered, words struggling to come out.

They were both feeling it.

_This isn’t right._

Bucky tried to remember the past hours but it was like disjointed snapshots in his mind: walking through the base, then an explosion in his skull of white-hot pain, dirt and rocks, on the cold concrete floor, and now here. Obviously someone- Hydra, one of their partners like The Black, or both- had gotten to them and strung them up here.

And whatever they have done to them was something Bucky had never experienced in all his years at Hydra.

He could feel is skin tighten and pores feel like they were popping open all over his body, something akin to an acid covering him from scalp to toes. It covered and burned and sizzled viscerally.

But the suffering inside was _far_ worse. It fizzed and popped and twisted him. It was all he could do not to call out against the foreign feeling inside of him, body convulsing as it tried to jerk away from the pain that was spreading from the inside out, impossible to escape. It was a feeling so _wrong_. He both raged against it and was stunned still by it, inexplicably caught between both.

“We’re not… who they want, Steve,” Bucky shivered out between chattering, clenched teeth. 

Although Bucky didn’t fully believe that- Hydra wanted him too, without a single doubt in his mind- but you were their main goal. For whatever purpose they had thought up for you, they wanted you back.

“She won’t… This wasn’t on the- the map,” His friend gasped, spitting blood out with his words as they came slower and slower. “Tony… Tony will find a way. We’ll be… be… alright.

Bucky looked to the ceiling, lungs suddenly feeling full of that acidic liquid that covered him, burning as though the air itself was making it boil inside of his chest cavity. He held his breath, trying to keep the liquid from spilling out.

But suddenly he lurched back in his chains, snapping his head down with a deep gasp. Somehow the feeling was gone, the dank air of the room suddenly too dry. He tried to take deep, gasping breathes now but it was like there was no oxygen in here anymore. Shutting his eyes tightly he tried to focus on anything but the agony in him.

 _Your surroundings goddamnit! Find something useful!_ he yelled at himself, forcing his burning eyes open.

The two men were strung up in a large industrial room, ceilings quite high for being so far underground. Two long thick chains were latched onto each of their arms with massive metal cuffs enveloping their hands and arms down almost to their shoulders. It was attached to a large mechanism that could move up and down. A big yellow console hung down beside them by a thick plastic cord, with one green and one red button tantalizing close to the men. But one they would never be able to reach.

There was some time in this silent hell before the commotion outside clued him in that someone had arrived.

_Please not her, please not her…_

From the back of the room, the several men that had brought them there had moments before been waiting, almost looking relaxed. Now they went from leaning against the wall to standing at somewhat attention. 

Their lack of concern at the noise was partly why he vehemently wished it was not you. This was all planned to get to you. They knew something that he didn’t and it was terrifying. As a mantra now, Bucky kept mentally wiling that it was not you who had come.

Getting a better look as the men drifted slowly into the light near the centre of the room, he figured from their outfits that they were The Black. They were dressed the same as the counterparts they sent after you. And Bucky had immediately noticed they weren’t carrying any weapons.

“Sounds like she’s here. Look alive,” said one of the men, again, just like Frenz with a hint of an accent. He looked so similar to Frenz too, features completely average and forgettable.

“Bully for you,” retorted Bucky, hacking instantly as the words pushed out of his mouth. 

He tried to keep his eyes open and body under his control but the acidic torment that coursed all over him made him jerk and twist within his chains.

The silence fell both outside and inside the room. Bucky hoping if it _was_ you, that you were seconds away from bursting in and blasting these guys with a machine gun.

Slowly he watched through watering eyes as a figure pushed in the massive metal doors and stood confidently in the door frame. 

The hallway behind you was pitch dark, keeping whatever you had done to the men standing watch unseen. Only the small amount of light from in the furnace room lit you up. And he wasn’t sure if his heart sank or lept at the sight of you. Somehow it meant that he was safe now, but that you weren’t.

You looked passed The Black completely, practically ignoring them, with eyes searching for someone else. You scanned the room before quickly locking onto Bucky, holding his gaze for a few moments. You flitted up and down both his and Steve’s body, assessing carefully. It was clear something was terribly wrong, but he and Steve were alive. You blinked slightly slower than normal like you were taking a brief moment to yourself, before turning almost leisurely back to look at The Black, stepping into the room.

And shit, you looked awful. 

Face and hands shredded, shoulder and neck soaked in your own blood as a wound laid open, little pieces of glass embedded into you, deep cuts through your clothes on your legs and knees. You were covered in sweat and dirt and blood. 

But somehow you made it look like you were walking into a party. Shoulders back, head high, face relaxed, with steps casual, like this was your element.

“Welcome to the heart of Vier Gliedmaßen, courtesy of Hydra,” said the man who spoke before, nodding almost deferentially to you.

“Don’t tell me, Hydra called this place the “four limbs” and hid a fifth one. How ingenious,” you said unimpressed, walking further away from Bucky and nonchalantly towards The Black. It positioned them to look away from the two super soldiers, but it meant you could keep an eye on the pair.

You stopped a distance back from the group of men. Bucky knew you had seen their lack of weapons, and from the lack of weapons in your own hand, the men you had disabled outside this room didn’t have any either.

_Just get out, Y/N. Just leave us…_

“Secrecy is important to us," the man continued conversationally, though with a lot less dramatics than Frenz had. "So is privacy, so we thought _this_ was a better way to introduce ourselves. Or maybe reintroduce ourselves, I suppose.”

You barely waited for him to finished.

“You’re Mathieu, your team is called The Black, and you're working with Hydra. I know enough about you, so let’s just skip it,” you said tersely before your face rested back into a neutral position. “So what do they call this one, hmm? The penis?”

Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve coughed or choked a little beside him at that. You were stalling for a reason, attitude too leisurely, and to be honest he knew you would have a damn good reason not to jump head-first into a fight. Especially against seven men with no weapons.

“This is the _Head_ of Vier—”

“Same thing,” you dismissed. "Just more macho bullshit."

You looked around calculating, avoiding both Bucky and Steve. 

This wasn’t right. You were seeing or sensing something. And Bucky couldn’t spare an ounce of strength or focus to try and figure it out.

“I was here some time ago,” you continued. “That was a risky move. You assumed I would remember one distance memory in time to come and try and save these two? You’re lucky I didn’t remember weeks ago. You’re lucky I actually remembered it _at all_.” 

Quick as a flash your head shot up to the corner behind Bucky, before moving slowly back to the hit men.

“Pretty poor planning, Mathieu. Obviously, your team has gone to shit since I killed Frenz.”

Again, your eyes briefly snapped back corner of the room before moving back to Mathieu. It was concealed in darkness but something there had you on edge, however you tried to play it off.

“You know how they want to play this, Y/N," Mathieu said as though in mild warning. "You’ll become a pawn for them again anyways. Mindless. So it could hardly really matter to you. But now you have a choice. You can make this easy on yourself and get the inevitable over with, or you can try it the hard way. And we all know what that means when it comes to Hydra.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, again to the corner just behind him and Steve. You spoke but this time your eyes stayed there.

“Yeah, I have a _good_ idea on how they want this to go," you said, voice guarded. "But we’re going to play this the hard way, Mathieu. I mean, you wouldn’t expect this to go any other way, would you.”

“Well, I was hoping we go w—”

“And who the _fuck_ is we?!” you shouted, voice suddenly loud and furious, eyes snapping back to him from the shadowy corner.

Your body language shifted in that moment, looking like you were ready to pounce full of fury and fire, muscles tight and fists clenched. Bucky didn’t know what was going on, wincing as your voice shook his eardrums. But you had a clue and it wasn’t good.

But he couldn’t think on that as he felt bile rise in his throat, burning like it was shredding him from the inside out. He spat and sputter and choked, wheezing as he tried to breathe air into his lungs.

_God, what was this?!_

“What did you give him,” you stated, voice suddenly icy and threatening, watching Bucky struggle against their venom inside him.

“ _Mor Sarmala_.” replied the man, this time with just the smallest smile. He reached in his pocket and held up a small purple vile, just like the ones you used that night to dissolve The Black's bodies “You thought you had stolen it all from Hydra? Well, they had been working on this iteration in secret. Instead of being used to disintegrate dead bodies, it’s been somewhat altered and diluted as a type of poison. Terrible stuff, really.”

The mask you carefully held while in a room of enemies started to slip away as you look to Bucky, shocked and disgusted. 

“It will kill them?” you asked, almost quietly, eyes still glued to Bucky as he writhed.

“Not these two. Well, maybe," Mathieu shrugged. "Their bodies will try and burn it out. Best guess is thirty percent chance of survival? But it hasn’t been tested on super soldiers, so we’ll see how accurate Hydra’s best guess really is.”

Your face hardened into deep lines. “Fucking bastards.”

“Indeed.“

“Cut the shit, Mathieu. Let’s just fucking get this done.”

The man shrugged and stepped back a little, like he was making room for something. “At your insistence, Siren.”

Quiet steps sounded in the room, in the darkest corner behind Bucky. Someone behind him was moving out of the shadows. But soon to Bucky’s ears it sounded like not one but a severa; people.

“ _Andre_?!” you burst out. It came out with a frantic gasp and you stood there, completely unmasked.

The man walked forward with several others. He was tall, face long and rectangular, eyes dark, and scummy teeth shining dully behind his curled lips. 

You were deeply shocked and to Bucky’s surprise, almost seemed afraid. Why was that name familiar?

The man name Andre didn’t speak, just stopped, beaming terrifyingly at you. There was an intense and insatiable hunger to that smile and it was all Bucky could do to not snap his arms off to get free and you out of there.

_Fuck._

You were tense, breathing hard and trying to move your face into neutral lines with only some small degree of effect. Your eyes went to each of the men, and there was a horrible ring of acknowledgment like you knew all of them. Bucky didn’t recognize a soul as he peered out through tearing eyes, only a nagging feeling in his mind about that name.

Then it clicked. 

You had called out that name one night, in a feverish nightmare.

These were men who had tortured you.

“Y/N,” Bucky croaked, voice hoarse. “Just get out… Just go.”

Your head stayed still but slowly your eyes moved back over to Bucky and locked into his again. Your expression softened, a warmth to your face but sadness in your eyes.

“I can’t, Bucky,” you said quietly, speaking his name like an endearment. Like you and he were alone, coiled up together in bed and waiting for the warm haze of sleep. “It’s not in my blood and I’m not going to let them take you again. I just can’t.”

Your voice sounded almost defeated.

You sounded like you didn’t have a choice. 

Again, bile rose up and started to choke him as fear and regret bubbled over.

“Don’t— Just— _go_!” he sputtered, eyes unable to focus on you as his spine then body started to shake. “Steve!”

But the man strung up beside him was fighting to stay conscious, body shivering. “You don’t have to… you can go now… Just go…”

“I won’t leave you Buck," you said quietly. "I just don’t have it in me to leave you. And you’ll forgive me, right Steve?”

There was an even, pregnant pause before suddenly it began.

Bucky had a hard time seeing, fighting back tears and tremors, but he could hear it all. Grunts and wails and fists hitting flesh. He blinked and shook his head and tried to get a clear shot of you through the agony of his body and now heart.

In this room full of men trying to get at you, your body already beaten and cut open, you moved at a blinding speed, Bucky struggling to keep up with you as you moved.

Your fists shot out, not hard and fast against a punching bag, but like a battering ram faster than lightning, sending men with their heads cracking back to the floor. You dodged and crouched and twisted yourself up on their shoulders before taking them down hard. You provided no mercy, no relief, and no intention of stopping.

But there were too many. 

And the men that crept from the shadows must have known you better than The Black. Whereas before they barely laid one finger on you, here as you dodged one fist, you flew into another. As you threw yourself down to sweep their legs, an arm wrapped around your neck strangling you. As you swung your body up on their shoulders to pull them down, you yourself were pulled down, body and bones cracking against the floor.

And just like you, they weren’t stopping either.

A few men broke off while you were struggling and pummelling the horde, coming back with something glinting the low lights.

“Y/N!” Bucky tried to call out, voice gargling.

The sound of metal hitting concrete echoed through the cacophony, as your foot swung up and pinned the arm down of the man wielding a pipe. You did that as you ducked down, swinging your other leg back to kick the man coming up from behind. Your hands simultaneously gripped the fist that was flying to your side and flipped the man down. But you couldn’t catch the man on your other side, his pipe swinging down hard on your spine.

You yelled out and fell, but your body didn’t stop moving. You pummelled and fought and pounded them. Bucky looked to the men on the ground, some dead with heads at a nauseous angle or skulls cracked open.

 _Win this!_ , Bucky screamed internally. You had too. You just had to get out of this.

Because knew what you meant to him now. He admitted it to himself alone with you in his bed and in his arms, and he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t unthink those words or feelings once he opened that gate and they consumed him.

After the fact he could barely even speak to you, barely be with you. It was too raw and too real and wasn't something he could ever have prepared for. Because who could have accounted for someone like you? You were this lifeline while Bucky was caught at sea. A warm, glowing light in the bitter darkness that was his life. A deliciously smooth balm to his constant pain. And when in that quiet, hazy space before sleep he had admitted to himself all that and more. That not only did he need you, but he wanted you. 

And it was terrifying, prompting him to keep away from you and your buzzing, beautiful, magnetic draw.

But nothing was more terrified than watching you fight like this now, while Bucky was watching on, screaming and helpless.

_You had to get out of this!_

Blinking back blood and tears, you were now in a headlock being beaten on mercilessly. You used the chest and face of the man coming at you with a pipe to climb up with your feet and flip yourself over, bending the man that held you backwards. With a quick pull up you snapped his back, the sound of his spine crack echoing. But the ragged edge of another piece of metal slashed your thigh before you could turn around and stop it, sending blood splattering in all directions. You punched the man out with one powerful swing, posture leaning and pained.

You reached out to grab the pipe but two men came up on either side, and you could dodge one but not the other. A wicked punch to the side of head sent you sprawling away from the weapon, fists reflexively whipping out in your dazed state. The one man dove on you, but you moved out of the way at the last moment and on his way down grabbed his neck and forced his head into the concrete.

You stood quickly, as it was finally between you and Andre, the last of the men. Andre lunged, and you rolled roughly away, uncharacteristically stumbling to get on your feet. 

Suddenly, a flash of silver emerged from his hand before sinking into your side, the jagged pipe and his hand immediately covered in your red blood. A swift pull up left you gasping before your fist went to the man’s face. 

You stumbled back a few feet, hands held just around the hilt of the rough metal pipe in your stomach. 

The man got his bearings from the punch to his face and lunged at you yet again. In a flash, the pipe was out of your side and you shoved it hard and fast into his stomach. Upon impact he gargled and sputtered, shock on his face as blood poured rapidly out of his gut. His eyes rolled back as he stumbled forward into you.

The sudden weight of his body pushed you back farther, sending you sprawling across the hard floor.

Your body was tense, shaking against the pain, muscles crunched up together tightly. You held your hands up in front of you, fingers stiff and shaking above the wound in your stomach. 

Frantic uneven breathing slowly turned into deeper, even breaths. 

Your body slowly began to uncoil, piece by piece of you starting to rest against the floor. 

Eventually, you stopped moving altogether.

“No! Y/N, _no_!” Bucky heard his voice cry out in anguish. Wildly he raged against his restraints, joints popping and heart-crushing in his chest.

You were fading. 

He couldn’t see your face as you lay with your back to him, but he knew what this was. 

Maybe you would survive the blood loss, or the split open organs, or the trauma of it. But not all three.

You were _dying_. Right in front of his fucking eyes!

“Get up, Y/N! You-you have to get up!” came Steve beside him, voice restricted and body limp and still. Bucky caught on quickly to the panic of Steve, as Andre began to move.

“Y/N! _Behind_ you!” Bucky begged, screaming at you. “Get _up_ , goddamn it!”

Andre pulled himself up to a crawling position, pausing to spew out thick red blood from his mouth. Another projectile gush erupted from him as he pulled the pipe out of his stomach. He began the slow crawl towards you.

“Get up, _please Y/N_!”

He was almost on you before in a quick flash you whirled around on your knees, grabbing his hand and forcing the pipe up into his neck. The man struggled as you pulled the jagged pipe across his throat and you stood up, trying to get the leverage to end this. A spray of blood hit you as you cut his artery and the man fell stone dead.

You stood there for a moment, looking down to the man at your feet.

Completely shredded, Bucky couldn’t fully see you clearly in the dim light and still watering eyes.

You didn’t sway, you didn’t make a sound, you simply fell forward full force, making no movement to brace yourself and no outcry as you skull broke against the concrete.

“Y/N!” Bucky sobbed, eyes rolling up to the ceiling against his will.

Bucky tried to calm down or get angry or stop hurting enough to pull free. But he couldn’t do anything. He was bound and helpless to do anything at all. He felt like he was dying over and over again and wasn’t sure if that was the acid that ran through him or your limp body bleeding out on the floor across the room.

It was minutes of excruciating screaming from him and tormenting silence from you before you moved.

It was ever so slight, but your arm twitched minutely. Then your head, tilting back just a little. Soon your leg was pushing up, then the other. 

Bucky watched as you didn’t try to stand, but began to drag yourself along the ground towards him. It was slow working, the inches of space you covered taking time. But you were alive and you were trying.

After agonizing minutes you had made it to them and the yellow console. Your face that had been dragging along the floor- leaving a thick red stain as you went- slightly turned up the men. 

“S okay now,” you slurred and your eyes were distant. You tried to keep them open but every few seconds they rolled to the back of your head. You tried to shake yourself out of it, but it was a losing game. 

You were covered in your own blood and it flowed freely from you. A deep stab to your side, shoulder and thigh, multiple cuts and gashes and contusions. You spat out your blood as it entered your mouth, deep open wound on your head raining blood down your face.

You tried to reach a hand up to the yellow console, but it flopped down, useless. 

Again you tried. 

And again. 

Your chest heaved faster and faster like you were sobbing, like you were failing.

“Y/N… it’s alright now. You’re okay,” Bucky tried to say but the words cracked and failed on his lips. “Just stop, doll. It’s okay.”

You tried to sit up, propping yourself up as best you could on your side. Again, you threw your arm up, only nearly missing it. The next time your sticky blood-covered fingers latched on. It took effort to even press the button with your crushed fingers, but you did it. Somehow you held on as the mechanism lowered Bucky and Steve to the floor and snapped open their arm restraints.

Once down Bucky fell to his knees, flexing his metal arm and screaming at the effort to focus through the torment burning his insides to stand.

He stumbled to you, falling down beside you as lay you there, eyes closed, breath uneven and gargled. 

“I have you,” his voice cracked, hands on either side of your face, his head spinning, feeling the life spilling from you. “I got you, doll.”

* * *

Your head was turned towards Bucky, unable to move and unwilling to take your eyes off of him. You couldn’t see out of one eye, throwing your vision for a loop, but nothing in your entire body seemed exactly right for some reason.

Everything was so _cold_. The quinjet table you were on had been almost warm against your body at first, but it was like the second your skin had touched it, it drove away all warmth away. There wasn’t a drop of it left in the whole world. 

You couldn’t feel your legs or arms or torso. Nothing but ice covered you and penetrated you.

You could see movement, people walking around, leaning over you. But you couldn’t really hear them. Was that normal? You couldn't remember.

So instead, you watched Bucky as he watched you. You tried to reach for him; you wanted to let him know this was fine, that you were okay, just cold. But you found that you couldn’t move, it not really feeling like you had a body anymore.

You weren’t sure why but it made you want to laugh, a distant memory slowly being pulled up from the depths of your mind. It reminded you of being stuck to the floor one time, covered in your own blood that had dried and left you glued there. Had you told Bucky that story? You couldn’t remember that either. You thought it was a funny story. You were this unstoppable being, yet was bested by a little blood?

Your shaking laugh came up like a choked gasp, blood in your mouth and throat spitting out in a mist. It sounded in your throat like you were agonized and your shaking laughter seemed more like convulsing and thrashing. Huh, weird.

Immediately Bucky was not beside you, but above you, clear blue eyes more concerned than anyone had ever looked at you. But it was only a _joke_ ; hadn’t he laughed at it before? Why did he look so pained?

You tried to say something, but a wheeze got caught in your throat and for some reason you noticed the shaking that had started with your laugh hadn’t stopped. Somehow you couldn’t control it either. Maybe someone was moving the table you were on? You still just felt cold.

You tried to reach out to him again and realized why you couldn’t in the first place. He was already holding your hand. He had it held up to his chest as he looked down at you. You thought he was speaking, it kind of looked like his lips were moving. 

You smiled, and unintentionally your head leaned back, looking away. He was holding your hand. How silly. The man that you met all those years ago was somehow here with you, _holding your hand_ again. You remembered the last time he had done that all those years ago, the memory warm and friendly in your mind. It was a memory that smelled like popcorn and summer evenings.

A groan came from someone nearby, but it was so high pitched it made your free hand move suddenly quicker than you could control, trying to wave it away. It wasn’t from Bucky you noticed as your head lulled back to him, his lips moving quicker and his eyes far more frantic. He just looked so _sad_.

His eyes were desperately sad but still so sweet to you. You should look at them more. You never liked the ocean, you thought suddenly. It was big and cold and hard to hide in. But his eyes were like two little oceans looking down at you. Again, you laughed at the thought, only barely noticing another choked and otherworldly sound coming from your chest. That high pitched sound happened again, this time far longer. 

His ocean eyes were big too. Not cold. Deliciously warm most of the time. And you felt like you could hide in them forever. Very much unlike how you felt about the real ocean.

But his eyes seemed to get more distance. More fuzzy. Darkness was creeping in around you, and you wondered why Bucky didn’t react to it. Why didn’t he notice?

You opened your mouth to ask him,to warn him of the coming darkness, but that rasping, agonized groan you had heard before was the only sound that escaped.

As the darkness took over and he faded from view, you heard him say one word.

“ _Y/N_!”


	10. Waking Up

You woke up on another table with a bit of a start. Your limbs felt like lead, your head like it was floating, and your eyes were practically sealed shut. You swallowed drily, body very much not feeling like you own. 

Feeling slowly along the table, you knuckles hit something. You tried to open your eyes and see what was happening. It took a minute for your eyelids to peel themselves apart, revealing only dim red all around you. It went on endlessly until you jostled yourself a little more awake. Your hand had hit a wall. There were actually walls all around like you were in a kind of smooth tube. Or coffin.

Nausea was your first proper feeling before you could even mentally string your favourite curse words together. You were covered from head to toe in here, no windows or door to get out, just a dim neon red glow from some unknown source covering every inch. This place was hot and stifling, not cold and open like you remember just feeling, though you couldn’t pinpoint when or where.

Visions of a nightmare filtered to the top of your mind, one you couldn’t quite place but immediately a surge of adrenaline shot through your dead-weighted body. It went into overdrive, blood-pumping furiously, you kicking out sloppily and throwing your fists against the wall above you. 

You pushed and started yelling, voice not sounding anything like you as it rung out in your enclosure, echoing painfully in your ears. It sounded awful and sounded furious. That pretty well summed up exactly what you were feeling.

Sharp barks sounded outside and for a moment you stopped panting, holding your breath to try and make the words out. But you couldn’t take another moment in here and again you thrashed out.

Punching the same spot above you over and over, you were trying to break through the metal that surrounded you merely with the bones in your hands. It was a losing game but that didn’t matter. You’d break every bone you had before you’d give up and stay trapped. You punched again and again as fast as you could manage with both fists, feet kicking out below you sending jolting pain down your arms and legs.

Only after a few moments did you realize how _weak_ you were feeling. How out of rhythm and out of any real strength.

“ _No_!” you began, screaming out the word over and over again, louder and louder. You were weak, you were trapped, you were imagining your nightmares, and you were barely able to breathe. 

More voices sounded and you called out in fear now, not knowing where you were or who was there while you were trapped in this coffin. The face of the man in the nightmare came back to you, along with his name: Andre. The image of a metal trough, holding you in as he leaned over and sliced you up did nothing but add a wildness to your movements as you groaned and struggled feverishly.

“Y/N!” came a voice. “Y/N!”

A small opening appeared, not over your stomach like in your nightmare but over your head, the light streaming in too blindingly bright to see who it was. The only thing you could clearly hear was a pounding in your ears as you tried in vain to adjust.

Instinctively you threw your fists up and tried to claw your way out of a hole too small for even your leg to get through. 

“No!” you screamed again, voice so rough now it definitely didn’t sound like yours at all. 

_He isn’t going to get me again! He isn’t going to hurt me, damn it!_

Suddenly the whole top of this tube was thrown off and the blinding light pierced through even your closed eyes as they shut reflexively against the harsh onslaught.

You couldn’t see but you could still _fight_ your way out of this.

Throwing yourself over the side, you hit the ground hard, head snapping back up as fast as it hit the unrelenting tiles. You fell on your wrist and held it to your chest as you tried to right yourself, standing up as best you could. It was like you had been lying down for years, legs weak and barely able to move much less stand. But you picked yourself off the floor as fast as you could manage, yelling through the stiffness that weighed you down.

You tried to open your eyes and get your bearings, and thought you saw some type of shape that could’ve been a door? You launched yourself towards it, hitting something warm and hard, and right away punched out again wildly against it. As tight arms circled around your back you knew it must be a person, and fear began choking you. 

They held you fast but your fist connected dead in the centre of their face hard. You heard a muffled noise as they momentarily relaxed their grip and you punched again in the area that their throat should be. You connected with as powerful a swing as you could manage and in doing so flung yourself back, landing sprawled out on the floor behind you.

You brought your knees under you, trying to get to a crouching position so you could stand again, but the weakness in your body kept you down. Gasping at the effort of fighting, even your adrenalin couldn’t propel you up.

“Y/N, please!” another voice said.

“No!” you said hoarsely. “Get away from me!”

You swallowed, trying to breathe, trying to move. Why were you so _weak_?!

“Y/N,” another voice, low and too close. But you couldn’t move back. You tried to open your eyes again, barely able to see through the white sheet of light that blocked your view.

“No,” you panted. “I won’t!”

“You won’t what Y/N?” The voice was too calm, too gentle. You weren’t going to make the mistake to trust it. You just needed more time, then you could fight. Then you could get away.

“I’m not… going in…” you closed your eyes tightly, groaning at the effort to try and focus. Why was this so fucking hard?!

“We’re not going to hurt you, Y/N," said that gentle voice while you tried to catch your breath. "You were hurt badly and Dr. Cho here is healing you. It took some time so you’re going to be weak for a while. But you are _safe_. We won’t touch you. You’ll have all the space you want, okay?”

You panted on the ground, your temperature once overheated now cooling fast against your exposed legs on the cold floor. You tried to look over to the person speaking, needing to make out whether they were your tormentor or not. You thought you saw blue and blonde in the blur but tightly shut your eyelids at the white-hot pain.

“Please,” you said eventually, voice still cracking and hoarse. “Just let me go. _Let me out_.”

“Y/N, you are safe, but you’re hurt," he said again while your nails scratched the tile floor, teeth gritting against the disorientation. "You have to stay here. You’re not done healin–”

But heavy footsteps walked fast towards you and you jerked back, trying to get away from the approaching unknown. One cold and one warm vice wrapped around you suddenly, the somehow abrasive human contact causing you to scream out in shock and pain.

The person who grabbed you held you close, wrapping you up so tightly. You struggled against it as much as you could, which all in all was pretty pitiful, you noted even in your dazed state.

Your whimpers sounded with the voices of others, louder and angrier than yours as you were carried away.

You wanted the warmth, you wanted to get away, both of which was happening however agonizing. But you didn’t know who or what this was, where you were going, or why the feeling of being pressed against them was so foreign and _painful_. It’s like your skin had been flayed and you were left open and exposed, even the lightest touch causing you to cry out.

“Stop, Y/N,” A voice directly above you rumbled, command gentle. “It’s alright. It’s me, I’m getting you out of here.”

It was some time before the movement stopped but you realized somewhere along the way that shivering had overtaken you.

“W-w-w… I-I…” you tried but you couldn’t get the chattering words out.

Something impossibly dry and rough enveloped your back as the person holding you set you down. You cried out before clenching your mouth shut, breathing rapidly through your nose.

“Doll, look at me,” said the voice. But you couldn’t. “Hey, Y/N, you need to look at me.”

You tried to say “stop” as hands gripped your shoulders but the sound got lost in your throat.

“Y/N, it’s Bucky, I’m here," said the voice. "I know you’re hurt but I need you to look at me. You have to stay awake.”

You knew Bucky, the name familiar to you somehow.

Slowly that familiarity turned and increased in your mind as you remembered him. Just hazy snippets at first. The sound of his voice. The cerulean of his eyes. The warmth you felt, sleeping pressed against his chest. The sound of his screams in a dark room.

You wanted to comply but everything was too much. You breathed in and out for what felt like a hundred times before you thought you could try.

Opening them bit by bit you saw the face of the man in front of you take shape. He was close and blurry and his hand went to your face, callous and gentle fingers tangling in your hair.

“The ceiling,” you whispered out. You knew that ceiling.

“We’re in my room Y/N," Bucky said above you, but his words began to grow more distant. "You’re safe, alright doll? Just keep your eyes open. Please just keep looking at me, okay honey?”

But you couldn’t. The swift darkness swept you up again and away from him.

* * *

You woke again, hazy and warm. Not freezing or boiling this time. Warmth against your skin and a warm smell in the air made you drift back to reality pleasantly slow for a time, then you crashed harshly into consciousness all at once.

“Bucky!” you whispered out, the yell of his name coming out hoarsely as your legs and arms kicking out instantly. 

As you were wrapped up against something, you heard a distinct “umff” sound and you kept hitting until they fell away.

You pushed yourself in the opposite direction from the thing holding you and for a brief moment felt airborne until a tile floor came up and hit you hard. That feeling was somehow familiar but you couldn’t quite place it. You were weak, hazy, and could barely get your bearings.

Scrambling along the cold floor, you brought your feet under you and stood, arms grabbing onto something hip-level for support. A bed? But you could feel metal too. Maybe a cot, or like a hospital bed? But you couldn't focus. Brief moments of your conscious life came back in bright and intrusive flashes of images, and you heard groan and shouts escape from your own chest.

“Y/N, stop!” came a male voice from across the room, walking up fast to you.

“No!” you yelled, eyes moving from tight to wide open as you tried to get them to work properly. It was so _bright_ in here. Maybe a hospital or med bay? Oh god, or a Hydra experimentation room... Instantly your blood turned cold. “Bucky! Where is he?!”

You didn’t wait for an answer but moved forward unsteadily, ready to fight (however unsuccessful _that_ would be in your state).

“Y/N, just stop, he’s here!" said the voice of a man, prickling familiarity in you. "You’re alright!”

“No!” you screamed, staggering for a moment before moving to what you hoped was a door. But your two feet didn’t feel like your own and with a sharp jerk, you started to fall. You didn’t even have the thought to brace yourself, arms numbly at your sides.

But instead of hitting yet again the cold hard floor, you felt the air get knocked out of you as hard arms reached from behind to grab you. Half crouching with a warm body pressed to your back, you tried to reach around and get out but the arms held you fast.

“Y/N, it’s Bucky, it’s Bucky,” he said quickly, breathing into your ear, his muscular frame binding you into him.

At his voice your mind remembered the smell of him, the feel of him while you slept, the feel of his flesh and metal arm holding you. He was the one you just woke up beside and pushed off. He was holding you now.

A throaty gasp sounded as the air entered your burning lungs again and your body shook with the effort.

“ _Bucky_ ,” It sounded like a sob and that just made you incredibly angry. Your eyes burned again at the light. “Are you hurt?!”

Your tongue felt like it was twice its size, words sounding odd and pathetic to your ears, which were horribly ringing. You turned into his face, feeling the tell-tale stumble against your nose, cheeks, and lips as you tried to keep your body from shaking apart.

“No Y/N, no," he assured softly. "I’m fine, I promise. I’m here.” 

“Are you hurt?!” you repeated even more frantically, forgetting you had just asked that.

“I promise, I’m okay," Bucky said again. "I’m right here doll, I’m okay. We're going to be okay.”

“What…” Shit, even _breathing_ was hard. “What the fuck… is _happening_ to me?”

“You were hurt, doll. Badly,” he whispered low to you, his voice calm if not very strained. “You almost died. But you’re healing. You’re going to be fine, alright?”

Your hand reached up, clawing at his shirt. You couldn’t ground yourself and you couldn’t take in your surroundings. It was _terrifying_. You were so rarely incapacitated and every cell in you was screaming to react, to do something.

“I can’t… I can’t…” you half-sobbed again. Fuck this. _Fuck all of this_.

You felt him adjust and almost screamed for him not to leave, your only anchor and protection in all of this, but he moved you around so your chest was to his now. You head was in the crook of his neck, his hair falling down on your face in sweet familiarity.

“You _can,_ " he insisted lowly in your ear. "Whatever it is, I know you can. Tell me what’s happening.”

A cough got stuck in your throat and you couldn’t voice it. You tried again, wheezing into him like you were dying all over again.

His fingers tangled in your hair, hand at the back of your head. He leaned your head back so it was facing him. You hated the distance, hands clawing at his shoulders and neck to get closer.

“Y/N, open your eyes for me doll," he coaxed. "C’mon, open them for me.”

You opened them slowly, and his wonderfully familiar face covering your whole view. It hurt all the way to the back of your skull and made your eyes water but you held them open, however narrowly. 

He was _here_. He was _real_. You could see and feel him. The smallest amount of relief mingled in with the slew of emotions screaming in your veins.

“Good,” he breathed, face intently watching you. “Tell me what’s happening. Are you in pain?”

“No,” you managed to lie, teeth clenched hard.

“Y/N, where does it hurt?” he insisted.

You couldn’t answer, because it was everywhere and nowhere. The pain was your body shocked at being unable to register what was happening. Or it was because every part of your body was mangled. Or because you were just still dying. Or maybe it was because this was just another nightmare you’d never be able to escape, only die over and over again.

He looked away from you, speaking up to someone close by. “Pulse is going crazy. Eyes have blood in them.”

He turned back down to you, eyes as gentle, commanding, and concerned as his voice. “Y/N, answer me. What’re you feeling?”

“Angry,” you said between gritted teeth, trying to stay focused.

“Good, that’s my girl," he whispered. "Now, what’s your body feeling?”

You breathed through your teeth and gripped his shoulders, willing yourself to snap out of it. You thought you were making headway on your own but apparently, it wasn’t enough. You yelled out a sharp high-pitched yip, trying to brace yourself and block out the torment inside, but it rattled through your very bones, shaking you violently in his tight grip.

“Give her a goddamn minute here!” Bucky said to someone out of view.

An intense shot of pain pricked you at the base of your spine which was from, though unknown to you, a rather large needle. It was like the air had been knocked out of your lungs again before a heavy gasp exited your mouth. Bucky pushed you back close to him and was speaking softly in your ear.

“You’re going to have to ride this out, alright darlin'?" he said, the strain in his voice barely heard above what you were feeling. "I’m right here. I’m going to hold on.”

The pain hit hard, contracting all of your limbs tightly against you in defense. You convulsed and thrashed and whimpered, unable to fight against this internal force.

You thought you called out to Bucky, clawed at him, whimpered and begged him to make it stop. You worried about him, unable to fight against anyone coming to hurt him or steal him away again. You tried to ask over and over through your torment if he was alright, if he was hurting too. But you didn’t know if you voiced it, you couldn’t register your voice at all, you couldn’t hear it above the pain.

But this wasn’t endless. 

Eventually, your body began to relax in exhaustion as the pain receded moment by moment. Maybe it was minutes or hours or days, but eventually it was reduced to near nothing.

“It’s done now,” Bucky whispered gruffly in your ear, voice sounding hoarse too. “It’s over… Shhh… It’s over.”

You didn’t realize you had tears coming down your face but for a brief minute, you didn’t care. Whatever was happening had all been too much. You remembered when you first escaped Hydra, staying in a corner of a decrepit warehouse. You desperately wanted to crawl back to that lonely, ruined place now, like a wounded dog.

You couldn’t tell how long it took, but at some point you felt proper feeling coming back to your feet. Then legs. Then torso. Then arms. It was slow, but it was happening.

You found at some point you could open your eyes again and saw that you were in the sterilely white medical bay. With several unfamiliar people tentatively watching you. 

You still couldn’t fight and couldn’t stand that or the unknown people in there with you. You needed to figure out the situation fast or you’d panic and start fighting again. 

“How many?” you said quietly so only Bucky could hear.

“Doctor Cho, four nurses, Steve, and the two of us. Exits behind to the left and right, and to both sides. Forty-eighth floor, west side of the building.”

“How long?”

“Four days.”

_Four_ _days?_ … Something had gone seriously wrong. 

“Why?”

“You didn’t… react well," Bucky started. "You were kept unconscious until they could figure out the anomalies but you woke up before you should have.”

“I… I thought I left here,” you wondered, thinking of the shocking pain of being moved. Then you remembered the ceiling of Bucky's room. “You took me away.”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, you feeling his Adam’s apple move against your nose. “But I brought you back. You weren’t done healing so they tried again. But you woke up again.”

“But I’m not going back in,” you stated this. It was not a question as you were not going back in a fucking tube. Or tunnel. Nowhere enclosed, and not without Bucky.

“No doll, you’re out for good," he assured.

“Why was… what happened to me?”

At the voice behind you, you went rigid.

“Whatever substance was in your body at the time, it made things a lot more complicated,” It sounded like Dr. Cho but you did not acknowledge her. “This may be an indelicate question, but what was in your system during your fight?”

You made no response. You could feel your blood rise again, itching to fight anyone or anything that came close, save Bucky. You felt his breathy scowl before turning down slightly to answer you instead.

“Stab to the stomach, multiple punctured organs. Stab to the thigh, leg, and shoulder. Fractured skull, shattered wrist, broken legs, eight broken fingers.”

No wonder you felt like shit, they had to basically reprint half your body. But you had had tissue reprinted courtesy of Dr. Cho advance machinery before, though never from the doctor herself. But it had been minimal, and nothing like these multiple rounds of disorientation came up. You knew of her Cradle that could reprint mass amounts of tissue damage and figured now that was where you must have been when you woke up the first time.

But with being so drained you couldn’t handle anyone else near you, ally or not, even if she did make the trip halfway around the world to do it. So you swallowed down the fear of your disorientation, wrapping your arm around Bucky and pulling in close.

_I’m safe. He’s got me._

_He’s safe. I’ve got him._

Somewhere along the lines before exhaustion took you again, you whispered out those words. And before you nodded off, you heard Bucky whisper them comfortingly back to you.

* * *

Later that day you felt more human, but your body didn’t quite feel like yours yet. It felt clunky and lethargic and swollen, despite everything looking normal. 

You had gone to the bathroom to assess the damage, not seeing anything really out of place. The most shocking part was your face. Your body looked like its usual self, with muscles and curves and edges all there. Even your abdomen, where four days ago a gaping hole that went back through to your spine, now looked normal. But your face was hollow, the whites of your eyes completely blood red, and no matter what you did you couldn’t rearrange your expression to look anything but pained.

Steve had come in and out of the med bay all afternoon, obviously dealing with something else by the look on his concentrated face, but Bucky had stayed with you the entire time. 

Nurses worked to check your vitals, take samples, inject this or that into you under the close watch of Dr. Cho and Bucky. His arms were crossed against his broad chest, looking incredibly intimidating whether he meant to or not, standing no more than a foot away from you at any one moment, leaving the nurses to scurry fearfully around him.

Once more Steve filtered in with a forced smile, leaning against an opposing bed to the one you were on. “It’s good to see you up and around, kid.”

“Yeah, I’m… alive. Mostly,” you said, sounding like you smoked ten packs a day.

The room was still a bright mix of white and steel, broad frosted windows letting in the light of the day outside. State of the art machinery with beeps of sound and blips of light surrounded you on your crisp and clean hospital bed.

You should feel comforted by all this. A fresh day, advanced equipment, top of their field professionals taking care of you... But you hated every minute of it. Despite the drastic difference in setting and bedside manner from your days at Hydra, it still reminded you of them, poking and twisting and torturing you in rooms like this.

“They’ll fix you up,” Bucky said more so like a threat, eyeing a nurse icily that moments before had pricked you, taking yet another blood sample. You doubted you had much to spare anymore.

As the nurse retreated, Dr. Cho came up, standing near to Steve in her blue fitted scrubs and hair pulled back into a neat bun. You tried not to grimace, another small wave of hatred welling up less so because of who she was and more so because of what she reminded you of...

“We need to discuss what you were on, Y/N,” Dr. Cho sounded, obviously collecting a bit of courage with Steve there in case you got violent again. And Bucky would clearly have been on your side in that fight, let’s be real.

Bucky’s already crotchety, ruffled feathers at your treatment did not respond well to that and Steve held up a hand to him, speaking quickly.

“Woah, she wasn’t on any drugs Doctor," he insisted, Bucky eyes narrowing with a confirming "hrmph" right beside you. "She’s not the type.”

Dr. Cho made to counter that remark but you didn’t give her a chance, knowing what she was getting at now that you had had a little time to think through things.

“It was their gloves, believe it or not," you spoke as quickly as your brain could pull together the words, ignoring her indelicate phrasing. "They all had them on.”

You didn't elaborate more. Nothing against her, but you never liked doctors. Usually doctors were the kind of people that had experimented on you, tortured you, drove you mad.

“What do you mean gloves?” she questioned, with now three sets of eyes looking to you a little confused.

“They didn’t have weapons," you explained, looking between the two people in front of you before settling on the brunette soldier beside you. "They had poison. In the fingertips of their gloves. They soak the outside in it. Kind of old school and retro villain; I haven’t seen them use it in a while.”

“That’s… idiotic,” Bucky said flatly, face crumpling at the stupidity of it. “So they touch their own skin and what, die?”

“It’s not that type of poison," you shook your head.

A short cough sprung up in your chest suddenly, Bucky immediately handing you a dinky paper cup. Taking a small sip of water, you relished the cool liquid pooling in your mouth then down your throat.

“So what is it?” Dr. Cho asked.

“The proper name I don’t know, it just reacts with pain meds," you shrugged. It was a thing among The Black, not you or Hydra really. "All different kinds. Any pain reliever will kill you, depending on the amount of poison in your system.”

You paused, putting down the cup on the small table beside you before rubbing your face. Talking wasn’t helping, but you figured you would feel no less exhausted if you were resting anyways. Maybe you would just always feel exhausted from here on out.

“They used to do it all the time, but it’s been a while since they’ve done it to my knowledge. So obviously that was a good play on their part,” you conceded, taking your time with your words. “They’d beat someone to near death, then dump them somewhere to be found. They’d end up in a hospital, who would pump them full of pain meds, and the person would die a slow, terrible death. It has a subtle, rotting grapefruit type smell. I knew from the first punch what it was.”

Bucky almost jerked back at your words. He looked like he himself been punched in the gut. Right away you went on high alert, mind reeling that maybe something had happened and you were too slow and out-of-it to notice.

“What’s wrong?” your voice was fringed with panic. Bloodshot, you looked around, trying to find the reason for the reaction.

“I… I just didn’t know that was happening. Why did you…” But his voice and face fell with eyes wide and dead, standing rigid with fists clenched.

“They would’ve taken you both,” you responded, guessing at his question as you tried to calm your racing heart. “There was nothing less I would have done than saved you, Bucky. Deadly poison or no.”

His eyes shot up you again at that. After a few beats he nodded once in acknowledgment, jaw clenched before settling back into that cold soldier look. If there was no immediate threat, you didn’t bother to question him further on his reaction. You just didn’t have the energy right now.

“You have quite the slurry of oddities in your blood and body. We couldn’t isolate just one poison," Dr. Cho explained. "The amount of toxicity inside you is staggering. How did you survive their poison?”

“Exposure? Experimentation? Any answer will do," you shrugged. Under Hydra you had more chemicals pumped into your body than you should have survived. It would take _a lot_ of one poison or another to take you down. "I don’t think it matters.”

“It does to the doctor trying to _treat_ you," she insisted. "From your records, you’ve only done simple tissue regeneration before, nothing this in depth and not with these complications.”

“Well, you did treat me," you said, eyes narrowing on her. "I feel great. One hundred percent.” 

By their looks, no one bought it.

“So you were experimented on… Like Captain Rogers or Sergeant Barnes? Your physiology isn’t the same as theirs, though. What did Hydra _do_ to you, exactly?” 

She asked almost cautiously, unusual for her normal professional manner. She was smart enough to guess at your feelings on doctors, and not to trust them now. Knowledge was power over you, and you weren't willingly going to share what you knew of Hydra's experimentations on you. She knew enough to heal you- the Cradle could reprint and repair anything it needed too- and going any deeper was not a place you felt you would go.

“I’m not fully super-soldier if that’s what you mean," you said, trying not to snap at her though your low energy levels helped to restrain you. "But I’m not exactly normal either. They did a lot at the beginning when I was taken, and then throughout the years. To keep me alive through the trauma. And unless it’s _vital_ for you to treat me, I suggest we drop it.”

The doctor cleared her throat in acknowledgment. That was all she would get from you today.

“The Cradle is advanced, but your side effects were not usual," she said. "You are healing fine now though and shouldn’t have any more difficulty. I'll be setting up here for the coming weeks as a precaution.”

“No, I feel great.” Somehow that lie came out less convincing than the first. You felt like trash and looked worse.

Cr. Cho raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, before walking off and back to her work.

You wanted to breathe a breath of relief at her departure, but Bucky's next words confused you enough to forget the comfort of having a doctor out of view.

“You need rest,” Bucky said, directing the words at you but looking to Steve, his voice slightly annoyed and defiant.

“No Bucky,” Steve shook his head. “We need to figure this out. Y/N won’t get any better if we wait on what happened. We need to talk about this with the Team _today_.”

You reached up to Bucky, hand on his arm. “Fill me in?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky mumbled, reaching down to grab your arm, secure and comforting. “We’re getting out of here.”

“No, Bucky, stop,” Steve said forcefully, walking around your bed and up to his friend. “You have to _stop_ this—“

“If you thought of her for one second instead of the goddamn _mission_ –” Bucky started, voice raised and sharp.

“Stop, both of you, please!” You tried to yell but again it sounded more like a sob at a basically normal volume. It got their attention nonetheless and both men turned to you.

Your eyes flitted between them before settling on Bucky.

“Bucky, can I talk with Steve, please?”

He didn’t move, just kept a narrow watch on Steve, defiantly avoiding to answer. You could easily guess what Bucky wanted- to get you away from the med bay and resting- but you needed to figure out Steve’s side. And the sooner this was done, the sooner you could lie down. 

After a moment of silence, you tried again.

“Please, Buck,” you said quietly. “You can stay close by, just give me a moment alone with him.”

He huffed, not even looking at you before turning and practically storming out. He left the med bay in a huff, but you knew he wouldn't be gone long or very far.

Mister dramatic.

Once the door closed, Steve stepped closer and perched on the end of the cot you were on. You gave your friend a half-smile, not really feeling the warmth in it.

“It’s good to see you alive, bud,” you said, genuinely happy to replace the picture of him hanging limply with the normal looking Cap that sat in front of you. 

“Likewise, Y/N,” His smile was genuine too.

“You’ve been in and out all morning," you noted. "Something’s happening.”

“We’re just trying to figure this out,” he agreed, hands clasped in his lap. “It’s been days already. We’ll fill you in on the details as a Team but mostly importantly, we need to do it today. And I know you well enough to know you would want this dealt with right away too.” 

He definitely wasn't wrong. Despite needing and wanting rest, you also desperately wanted to know what was happening too.

“But Bucky doesn’t seem to like that idea. Is there… well, something dangerous that he doesn’t want me to know?” you ventured a guess.

“It’s not that. Not really," Steev said, stumbling through the next words. "He's just… He’s a protective guy, Y/N. Always has been. He’s had my back since the 20’s, and I wouldn’t be around now if he hadn’t been there to protect me back in the day.”

“…But?”

“But you’re _different_ to him," Steve paused, watching you a second before continuing on, quiet and serious. "When you had your first nightmare, Bucky took you away from the Team. To stitch you up, to protect you. When we found you in the bathtub after The Black came, Bucky took you away, insisting to look after you. When you were healing here under medical supervision with direct orders _not_ to move you, at the sound of your shouting Bucky ripped open the Cradle and took you away.”

It was your turn to pause, blinking a little surprised.

“Oh,” was all you could respond with, word falling flat while internally you processed.

Some of that was distinctly new information and you honestly didn’t know what to do with it.

“I did let him,” Steve admitted a little ruefully. “Each and every time. But I know he would only do that if he had your best interests at heart, Y/N. He doesn’t want to fight anymore, and I don’t blame him. In his own way, he’s just trying to protect you. But we'll need your help here; he just can’t take you away from the fight this time.”

“Yeah, no surprise there,” you said, rubbing your face again in exhaustion and mumbling into your hands. “He’s been like that for decades I guess.”

A beat passed before Steve spoke.

“Wait,” Steve started slowly. “What?”

“Hmm?” You looked back to him, hand on your neck. 

You would start to feel stiff again if you didn’t stretch and move soon. Maybe dealing with the Team sooner was a better idea as you wouldn’t be able to lie down for long anyways.

“What did you say?”

“Um, I don’t know,” you said, a little confused. “We were just talking about Bucky. He has a habit. Probably doesn’t even realize it.”

“No, you said that he’s been like that for decades, Y/N,” His voice had a much firmer quality to it now. “What did you mean by that?”

“I… uh I don’t,” you stumbled, swallowing. Had you said that?

Your stomach drop was the first indication that you had made a big mistake.

Steve was on his feet, hand holding your arm lightly, intensity now rolled off him in waves and replacing his once gentle concern.

“Did you know him in Hydra?”

“Steve, let me go," you said, trying to think of a way to backtrack. "I didn’t say I _knew_ him, I just–”

“Have you known about him all of these years? Where he was? Where they kept him?”

“Steve, please let go," you tried to say firmly, but it came out desperate. "Can we just drop this?”

“Y/N, answer me honestly,” His eyes were searching yours trying to dig out the truth himself. "Did you _know_ him?"

“Steve… please,” You quite quickly did not feel good, his hand gripping you too tight as he turned more frantic. “Just—”

“You knew all of this time, and didn’t say anything? Does he know?" You could practically see him go through every conversation you and he had had about Bucky rolling behind his eyes. "What else have you been _lying_  to me about?”

“Steve, you’re hurting me, please let go!” You grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him away but couldn’t even budge it.

“How could you hide this from us, Y/N? Hide it from _me_? When we talked about him and when we were searching, did you know where he was? Could we have sav—”

But a punch to his jaw sent him flying into the wall, his hand ripped painfully from your arm in the process. You clutched it and moved as far back as you could, pressing yourself against the plastic headboard of the bed and bringing your knees up to your chest in defense.

 Beside you was Bucky, face dark and blue eyes absolutely fuming. His chest was heaving, standing there ready to swing at Steve again if he got up.

“Wait,” you choked out, tears coming down your cheeks. When did that start? “Bucky, just don’t.”

“Bucky,” Steve started, getting up off the ground, drop of blood on his lip. Your hand flew over to Bucky’s metal arm as he began to move, ready to punch his friend again.

“Bucky, just…” You scrambled to think of something. “Get me out of here? Please, let’s go. I want to leave. Now.”

He waited, eyes on Steve with the deadliest gaze. You gripped his arm tighter and too fast for your comfort, he suddenly compiled with practiced precision. And like all those times Steve had mentioned before, Bucky tucked you into his chest and carried you away.

* * *

You watched, guilt almost keeling you over as Steve stood the farthest back of anyone. Bucky was closer to you, posture rigid and obviously still fuming at his friend. Icy cold death stares weren’t just for Steve; the whole Team was paying the consequence as collateral damage to their fight.

Everyone had assembled in the lab to go over the details of what happened those four days and why. You tried to stay focused as the conversation carried on, but it wasn’t like that was much of an emotional break either. It was worse in its own way.

The details of it had come back to you as you laid down under thick blankets in Bucky’s bed, in the time between the med bay and this meeting. He being too worked up to do anything except pace the room back and forth, flexing his metal arm periodically with that metallic buzz. 

You laid down in that familiar place, mind running through the series of events that brought you there. Claustrophobic tunnels, dead men, Bucky strung up and looking like he was dying with Steve barely conscious beside him, more dead men, and your broken body.

“Who would be doing this?” Bucky asked quietly to you, carrying on a conversation in the lab now. Instead of under blankets in a cool, comfortable bedroom, you were sitting perched on the counter, a little more hunched over than usual, with the Team around the room in a big circle.

In all honesty, you had been completely done with this meeting ten minutes ago before it even started. Still, you answered Bucky.

“Who specifically do we have to take down to end this, you mean?” you shrugged, wearily. “It might not matter at the end of it all. They have obviously contracted out some of the torture to The Black, and who knows who else by now.”

“Y/N…” Bucky started exasperated. He raised his eyebrows, imploring you to come up with something better.

“The head of Hydra, I guess,” you shrugged again. “With the amount of effort, this would be coming from the top.” 

“Then we take down all of Hydra, finally. Cut off all the heads,” Tony said determinedly, strolling to the middle of the room and quieting the multiple conversations happening. “No more dicking around, no more thinking they are gone only to have them pop up again. No Hydra, no payment for the contract killers after you, therefore no contract, so no problems, and then we drink tequila.”

“I _was_ getting around to them all, you know,” you pointed out.

You had been going after them for years now- often times with Steve and Natasha and recently Sam when he joined the fold on the hunt for Bucky- whittling them down as much as you could. Chatter among the Team continued again before Bucky’s low voice directed them back to you.

“You knew a man there.” 

By his look, you figured that was what he had been getting at with his first question. 

He wanted names. 

You had wondered if he was aware enough during your fight to notice or remember that specific aspect of it. Normally you wanted and felt best when you were an open book, save a few big exceptions. Like what your fight with Steve was about earlier. And this was one- today of all days- in your emotional physical state you did not feel inclined to talk about it. But it did no one any favours to stay quiet.

You grimaced, eyes flashing to Steve who was looking past you before flitting to Bucky, then the floor.

“No,” you corrected firmly, keeping visions of those nightmares down. “I knew many men in that room.”

“And they all knew you,” he stated.

“Intimately.”

That was exactly as in-depth as you would go.

You tried not to cringe as their faces flashed in your eyes, both of what they did to you those years ago and their dead faces from just days ago. You tried to push it down, not having the strength to relive it.

“So,” Nat said, cluing in. “Hydra was sending people after you that you knew, that had tortured you, to what, psychological mess with you in a fight? That’s a dirty play.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, all you could muster. 

“So who else do you know that’s around now?” Tony asked. “Who else would they send after you? You worked with The Black before too, so we need to find people with a connection to you.”

“I suppose a few elite hit teams, some other gross people, the head of Hydra and my old handlers. Those were who I had contact with mainly. Most of the handlers are dead already though. I might have been able to get around their triggering, but they still had the means and I didn’t want to give them the chance.“

The Team side-stepped that bomb of why and how those handlers died. Not point in bring up the details of those skeletons.

“Which means not _all_ of the handlers are dead. Let’s go through this,” Tony said, saddling up to a large glass screen, illuminated with subtly glowing icons ready to go. “We need names, descriptions, locations, maybe previous missions they've been on? Give it to me, baby.”

“Slow down,” Bruce interrupted, hand up to Tony. “We need to understand this before just jumping into another bloodbath. No offense, Y/N.”

“No, that was fair.” 

“So what was the point of all of… _that_?” He gestured abstractly, assuming he meant the abduction and subsequent fight. “Why didn’t they just take you? I mean, c’mon, there are much easier ways to do so. And clearly they don’t mind throwing bodies at you to mow down, so they have the manpower. Again, no offense.” 

The whole room paused and waited for you to fill in some bit of information that would pull this all together. They must have been wondering for days what Hydra was doing and why, coming up with theories as to why they would go to the trouble and not successfully enslave you again. 

You were about to disappoint them.

“So… you think there is a point to this?” you asked, almost dully, looking around to the other Avengers.

“Y/N,” Wanda spoke up. “There has to be a point. All this destruction? All this blood?”

“Why keep failing when there are easier ways to their end goal of capturing you?” Clint added. “I’m sorry but they took _both_ Boy Wonders here, almost killed them and certainly incapacitated them. They could’ve just done the same to you and called it a day. It doesn't make sense.”

You sighed. Maybe your body was feeling better but your heart weighed so heavy in your chest. You were teetering on an emotional edge that you had been on for a while. There were so many reasons why- near death, terror, disorientation, exhaustion- but it wasn’t any of those, and you knew it. 

But what was pushing you to the edge, you couldn’t put together. Allyou could understand was that you were on the edge of it, and you tried your best now not to fall off.

You took a deep breath before addressing the Team again.

“There _isn’t_ a point,” you started then spoke slowly. “You have to understand that.”

“Y/N, they said as much, that it was their end game to get you?” Steve asked, reserved. 

Maybe the Team couldn’t tell that he was upset with you, but you sure did. His crossed arms, leaning posture, his distant look all spoke volumes to you.

You rubbed your face before starting again to try and explain.

“I hurt them, you guys. I _tortured_  and crippled them. I used every piece of information I had accumulated through the decades to go after them in any way I could. I caused them severe pain, and they are just doing the exact same here. They are torturing me- psychologically and physically- as some sick payment for my… disobedience, I guess.”

“Y/N, this only just started and you left them years ago—” Nat started.

“So?” you snapped, getting closer to that edge for a moment. “They want me to go through this again and again until I can’t take it anymore. If they happen to catch me, great for them, because sure, that is what they want at the _end_ of it all. But what they want _now_ is to cause me _pain_. Torture me and harass me and break me down. It’s the journey, not the destination here. _That’s_ the point. That’s all they want out of this.”

“Then why go try to save us if you knew this,” Bucky asked pointedly.

“Because the alternative wasn’t one I was willing to consider, Barnes,” His words somehow caused an anger in your chest to build, you just couldn’t put words to it.

“You should have just left us,” His words weren’t loud, just firm. “Maybe you like a fight, but I’m not worth all this to you.”

And with so few and seemingly unimpressive words he made your anger turn from a flame to an absolute explosion. In a split second you were so unnaturally furious you didn’t know where to even fucking begin. 

Instantly it was like there was just the two of you there alone, and you did not hold back, words fiery and voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

“I went after _you,_ Bucky. And I knew _exactly_ what the fuck they would do to me if I failed!" you seethed at him. "Do you understand what I did for you? I went walking into Hydra’s den knowing this, with nothing but my broken _bare hands_ to save you! _”_

You gasped at that, eyes burning and hands shaking at the effort. How dare he think any _less_ of himself than exceptionally, impossibly worthy. And how dare he downplay what you did for him because of it.

“So don’t you _fucking_ try and tell me you weren’t worth the risk because you _are_. I knew what was at stake! Don’t tell me that you aren’t worth it! To me _you fucking are_ and don’t you say goddamn otherwise!”

The room was deathly silent as you tried to get your breathing under control, holding your palms to your eyes, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. How could someone like him think himself so unimportant, so unworthy of being saved?

You tried in the silent moment to calm yourself as your pulse raged. You didn’t have the energy for this, not _near_ enough. For a moment you were pushed off that emotional edge, plummeting faster than you stop yourself.

And it came to you suddenly why.

Because of him.

Because of _Bucky_.

You had watched him, strung up, not just tears but blood streaming down his face, skin blueish and body convulsing uncontrollably. There was no other choice but to save him. There was no option. You probably would have just dropped dead if you had tried to turn away.

And that had been terrifying to you. 

You were willing to give up everything for him. You just couldn’t help it. If there had been a thousand men in that room between you two you would have fought your way through or died trying.

You didn’t believe in entering into a no-win situation, not having some kind of upper hand (re: weapon), or in making stupid decisions. But that went out of the window the second he had cried out in anguish. It went against every self-saving instinct and every fearful emotion that welled in you to stay and fight the men that had shredded you for years. Their faces. Their torture. Your excruciating, unending pain. And you faced it. For him. 

And when you had woken up on the other side of that madness, broken and confused just out of the Cradle, all you could think when you had the mind too was about him. If he was hurt, if he was with you, that he was holding you close, that you were close to him. You desperately clung to him, it killing you inside that you couldn’t protect him or yourself.

You weren’t thinking of poor Steve or wondering what had happened to the others. You hadn’t even thought to ask. Oh god, they had been your family for years and their well-being didn’t even cross your mind for a second. Even now you didn't know what had happened to them that night or how they got out of it. All because your mind and heart were focused on Bucky instead.

You had previous no idea why you had even half of the reactions you had when it came to Bucky, but you did now. Why you wanted to be with him all the time. How easy it was to be with him. How intense your anger was when he was taken. How deep your sadness was when he was hurt. How much of yourself were willing to give to him.

_Holy shit._

How had this happened?! How had this crept up on you so slowly, only to crash into you so full force it knocked the air out of your lungs?

Your mind was racing as he stepped up in front of you, blocking the view of the other Avengers who were awkwardly trying not to watch on after your intense personal outburst, talking quietly about next steps.

He put a feather-light hand to your elbow, coming close enough to brush against your knees as you sat on the counter. 

That spicy comforting smell, his radiating heat, the feel of his skin on yours bringing up quiet evenings pressed deeply into him…

“ _Don’t_ say it,” you desperately whispered to him, his deep blue eyes searching yours. 

But the words were for yourself. The knot in your stomach turned from drastically misplaced anger to a deep, aching longing. Fuck, how _long_ had that been there?

_I think I love you._


	11. Sleepless

The night air was blowing around your skin and under your clothes. You had your hood up, watching the gleaming lights of the bright city below from your dark corner of the world. Curled comfortably in a plush chair you had been alone there for some time, the low external humming of the distant bustle below the extent of your company.

The outdoor balcony attached to the lounge had never been your favourite place. Too exposed for your liking. It went against your ingrained training to willingly be out in the open, a target to be easily spotted or shot. The Tower was a towering spire in the middle of the city, so though there were many buildings around you, none so high as to be too much of a threat.

But the last encounter with the enemy proved they were taking a different route than their usual fare, so you did much care anyway. This wasn’t going to be clean a cut and quick mission for them. They would draw this out for as long as you would let them.

But your mind was not on the imminent threat. And admittedly you were not preoccupied by the sounds and distractions below, but trying to handle your loud and long-running internal dialogue. It was essentially around one specific word.

 _Love_.

It wasn’t a _bad_ word to you necessarily, but rolling it around in your mind and mouth, it was very foreign. Being treated how you were for the past many decades, it wsa hardly a stretch to conceive of why.

The word had almost a bitterness to it. The assaulting feelings that accompanied it were intense and caused your tongue to be coated in the taste of it. But there was a sweetness there too. And sour. And a terribly deep heat that went further down your throat down into your gut and burned there.

You were incredibly light-headed and had been clutching your arms not only out of cold but to keep yourself from up and flowing away. Your stomach was twisted and split open, tingling in lustful longing and in astoundingly intoxicated ways. Your chest was hollow, completely and utterly empty, leaving your breath short and on the verge of gasping, wanting desperately to take in an oxygen that would satiate the emptiness. But with every harrowing breath, you came up all the more empty.  

Without _him_ there you had never felt more alone, in a deeply, uncomfortably personal way. It was an emptiness you never realized was there before now. The place where this feeling of love had taken you? Well, it had left you there, abandoning you to these unfamiliar and isolated surroundings. Somehow in the thick of this, you knew that no one else but him could reach you in this place. Others may look in, but he was the only one that could cross that threshold to be truly close.

_Love._

It was never experienced by you personally, but you had viewed it from the outside before. Maybe, you had thought nauseously at some point as you tried to deny it, that what you felt was just a degree of it? Perhaps this was merely loving _feelings_ , not necessarily _love_ itself. Maybe the heavy word was too strong a description of this.

But if this wasn’t the feeling in it’s full and complete intensity, you would _never_ survive it at its peak.

For the hundredth time, you asked yourself _how_ this had happened. How this could sneak up and suddenly take you over like this, the floodgates opening full wide, washing you out to this emotional and physical mania?

As you held your body close against this tidal wave, the air picked up a familiar scent and you heard imperceptibly light footsteps walk up. The quiet footfalls of an assassin, if you had to venture a guess. But the warm smell in the crisp night confirmed the man regardless. Much to your turning stomachs delight at him and the loathing in yourself.

He sat a few chairs away from you in your dark little corner of the balcony, not leaning back in comfort, but with elbows on his knees. You were briefly contented in the fact that he felt the same you had, not ever to be fully at ease so out in the open. If you had to be this uncomfortable in your own skin, it was at least a little comforting that he felt a modicum of that too.

You didn't immediately acknowledge him, just felt the light gaze of his eyes on you. Silence hung between you for some time before you found your voice to speak.

“I snapped earlier and I’m sorry,” you said, still watching the city, fingers digging into your elbows. “I’d blame Dr. Cho but I don’t think what she did to me is the problem.”

Because, let's be honest, _you_ were the problem here.

This was a situation you had never had to face, had never prepared for. And now you were left trying to navigate something far more complicated than you could have imagined. Find what made someone tick and exploit them for it? Fine. Get into someone's head and break them apart? Sure. Open up a person's body just enough to keep them alive and make them feel unimaginable, unending pain? Been there and done that countless times. But _this_? This was completely new, uncomfortable territory and you had no idea what you were doing.

“Steve has a few theories.”

His voice, low and smooth like liquid smoke, rich and overpowering you with a drop. You closed your eyes a moment, shutting down your feelings as much as you could. It was dismally unsuccessful. So you kept your eyes to the city, and your body still turned away from him so he was watching your hooded profile.

“Do I want to know?” you asked, half-curious and half-grimacing.

“You know what," Bucky replied slowly, tone a little guarded. "I really couldn't say."

You could feel his narrowed eyes on you, calculating what your reaction would be if he told you.

You could easily _guess_ what Steve would have thought though.

In this chair you had run through every instance that involved Bucky and then every conversation you had about him. You remembered earlier conversations with Steve- at the kitchen island or on the running track, etc- subtly steering you to a similar type of conclusion you had bracingly reached earlier. Certainly not exactly _this_ , but more so how you were probably well suited to each other. It didn’t help your queasy sensibility now.

You also remembered the guilt of your last conversation alone with Steve. His eyes an unusual mix of bright anger and glassy heartache, jaw clenched, and hand bracingly clutching your arm as though he was trying to hold onto the view he had of you. One that was trustworthy. One that was honest.

Back in the days of both coming into your own and joining the Avengers, you had denied ever meeting Bucky, citing that you and he ran in different circles. Silent assassins and chaotic torturers conceivably may not be handled the same, so it was an easy lie to tell and be believed. And the more you said it, the easier it got. Practically everything else you had mentioned- all the bases you thought he could be in, all the routes and tricks and safehouses- were nothing but true. You had honestly searched for him at the time. Though you supposed none of that mattered now. That one lie may have ruined it all.

At the time it was a lie used to spare yourself more pain because an asset like the Winter Soldier? Well, your strength of spirit to escape had been a one in a billion improbability, and Hydra wouldn't let another of their own go. They have likely would have killed Bucky before they let that happen again. Then the lie became about Steve. About sparing him the likely gruesome reality against the apple pie version of Bucky he liked to talk about. Steve was a lot of things, and intelligent was certainly one of them; he knew that if they got Bucky back, it wouldn't likely be the same Bucky. But you couldn't break the heart of your friend by confirming the details of your history with Bucky, not willingly. And not over that near impossible improbability of getting him back.

But you were smarter and stronger than your own good, and find him you did.

Then the lie became about protecting Bucky from more pain. And lastly, the lie had been about you. About not only sparing him pain in a lifetime of anguish but about not losing him in the process.

Regardless of this lie's evolution, you knew Steve would stay silent on the matter. He wouldn't tell Bucky what he guessed at earlier, again most likely to spare Bucky the pain too (though you _did_ hope he trusted you enough to have that be a reason too). Besides that, not once had a private matter spoken between the two of you reached anyone else’s ears. Steve was too loyal for that.

“So, you two worked it out?” you said quietly, voice deliberately neutral.

Bucky’s feathers were ruffled once again at the reminder, rolling his shoulders slightly and metal arm catching faint glimmers of city light shining through the night's black cover.

“He won’t tell me _why_ he was questioning you like that," Bucky said darkly. "So not completely. But enough.”

You breathed out slowly in release, as his question remained unspoken. You had yet to decide if you would answer him honestly if he asked you straight out about it. Thankfully, he didn’t force your hand.

“Part of a past, that’s all,” you shrugged, remaining tight-lipped on it.

You had _hated_ lying to him and you _hated_ concealing this from him-and previously Steve for _years_ for that matter- but it just had to be this way.

You remembered clearly the day Steve first showed you a picture of his Howling Commandos, Bucky pictured right beside him in a dashing jacket, looking incredibly young. Steve was too caught up on fond memories to notice what your reaction had been.

But this painful, nagging lie was the _only_ way. It wasn’t exactly your story to tell anyway; it was Bucky's. And since he didn’t remember, you left it unsaid. The amount of guilt that flooded you because of that weak excuse was just another overwhelming emotion thrown into the mix tonight.

The cool air whistled gently between you and you took it in, an icy cold lining your lungs with every inhale. You used it as a focus point, trying to keep the overwhelming tangle of feelings quieted.

“Have you forgiven each other at least?”

“No,” he huffed. “But I think we’ll be alright. We’ve had worse fights.”

“Some I’ve heard about too," you said lightly, trying to change the topic to something- anything- else. "Like spending train money on hot dogs, or to impress girls, or for helicarrier computer chips. Just everyday stuff.”

Carefully you glanced over to him, only barely making him out from the side of your hood. Bucky leaned back in the chair a bit at your words, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were distant, reminiscing. It relaxed him as it always did, slinking down into past times. There was a spark of ease in his eyes and features, something you had longed to see in him when he first arrived.

You had at that time wanted him to simply rest and be vulnerable and be open with you. Enough for him to heal and trust again. Well, you had _thought_ that was your motivation at the time. And maybe it was, but maybe it was something else too. Had you felt something from the beginning, and just couldn't put words to the feeling? How long had this _love_  been growing for?

But that vulnerable, easy way about you when he was near somehow was at an end, and you quickly turned away as Bucky looked to you. You folded your arms tighter in the chill and his eyes stayed on you.

“What is it, Y/N?” His voice was terribly soft, carried gently on the wind.

He could sense your mood undoubtedly; it would’ve been hard _not_ too. You were both trained to notice body posture, people’s tones, and looks. You were practically screaming that something was wrong. You hadn’t been like this all day either, so you couldn’t reasonably blame waking up with such a struggle.

“It’s been a long day,” you answered without actually answering.

“Then let’s end it,” he said easily. You heard him stand to his feet, but he didn’t move closer. “It’s almost 2am.”

“Wow, you’re right,” you said quietly, not budging.

Still hooded out of sight, you sat still in the quiet that followed. Like before he didn’t ask you why after feeling so exhausted and so wrecked after the Cradle that you had decided to stay up to such an ungodly hour. He must have been waiting for you to come down and begin your nightly routine together as always.

“You’re freezing, Y/N,” he stated, not at all unkind. He knew you both hated being cold. Forced cryo did that to a person. “C’mon, doll.“

You were here because it somehow seemed easier. It was better to be cold, to try and forget not just the feel his heated body pressed against yours but your intimate _wanting_ of it. Cold and outside, instead of warm in his arms.

You used to be able to ignore the waves of emotions you couldn’t understand, swallowing them down. But now knowing that you knew what those feelings were, you couldn’t push it down anymore. It was drowning you now, taking over. How you possibly sleep next to him- sleep basically _pinned under him_ \- while you felt this way about him? Ugh, it made your stomach turn.

“I’ll be alright here, alone.”

The emphasis on “alone” came out stronger than you intended with your strained voice. There was a pause.

“I guess I didn’t mention earlier, I don’t think I’m _ever_ leaving you alone again,” He tried to keep his voice light but there was another quality you couldn’t quite place. It sounded pained, almost. Briefly you saw the bitter and bright flash of his blue eyes in your mind, so pained and desperate at you fought alone both times while he could do nothing but watch.

 _Oh god, don’t say that_. His words curled your fists and stomach. Maybe that was what he wanted, but it wasn’t _you_ he wanted. You tried to repeat that over and over.

“Don’t say that,” you said, swallowing.

There was a beat in the conversation before he spoke.

“And if it’s the truth, Y/N?”

“But it _isn’t_ , Bucky,” you said, more unhinged than you meant to. 

Tightly you closed your mouth and eyes before anything else came tumbling out with that hint of desperation.

You heard him sit again, and again his voice went velvety.

“Doll, what’s wrong?”

You swallowed down your first response, sure the emotional contents of your stomach would spill out with words you’d had only just barely been able to admit to yourself.

_I love you, I love you, I love you..._

“If you’re worried about being alone yourself,” you deflected, needing to go as far in the opposite direction as you could from the phrase on repeat in your head. “Don’t. I know you’ll find a girl to dance to old records with. Spend train money on. Ride carnival rides with... Someone Steve will approve of.”

“Where is _that_ coming from?” You made no answer _, hating_ the idea of what you just said. “... Why would you think that's what I'm after? I’m not that person anymore, Y/N. I haven't been in seventy years.”

“You deserve not to be alone," you said, pushing on. "To have happiness, Bucky. You should go find it.”

“Okay, that's it," he said with a huffy sigh, walking towards you. "Tell me what this is about.” 

Before he could reach you, you sprang up, keeping a few feet of distance between you. For maybe the first time, your response was flight and not fight. Maybe if there was anything that confirmed your feelings, it was _that_.

Closer to the balcony railing and the city at your back, you had no real escape with Bucky blocking the way the door. You glanced at it quickly and saw Bucky’s confused face fall as you looked back to him. He knew you were searching for a way out, a way _away_ from him and by the look on his face, it hurt. But you couldn't manage not too; you were a tense ball of emotions, still hiding somewhat behind your hood as your hands were pressed flat against the glass balcony wall.

“What have I done, Y/N?" Bucky swallowed. "Please tell me.”

_Oh god, this really was hurting him, wasn't it?_

How could you put this to him, without actually explaining why? How could you say you loved him without letting him know, because it was far too terrifying to really admit?

This was too much to deal with. You needed separation from him- at least for tonight if not for a while- to figure this out. But your lives were intertwined on almost _every_ level by your unintentional (or love-sick subconsciousness ) design: living, eating, training,  _sleeping_ together.

The only way out of this was to insist that you should be alone and he should find someone else to fill the void.

...Right?

“Nothing," you said too quickly. "I only mean… I mean I think I should just be alone. And you should be happy. With someone else.”

Oh god, this was going to _kill_ you. What were you _saying_?

Bucky’s face went hard at that, looking at you straight on and immovable. You had the distinct feeling you weren’t getting out of this.

“What do you mean, Y/N,” He wasn’t asking this time.

“Just leave,” you tried to say with some amount of firmness. "Please."

“If you don’t want me around, fine,” he growled, angry breath billowing out of his nose in the cold. “But you can’t stay up here frozen and alone.”

“I’ll stay here," you replied. "And without you.”

His eyes narrowed and inclined his head, searching you. The heat and hold his eyes had over you kept you in place, unable to look away from him.

“What did Steve say to you, exactly?" he questioned, still searching. "Did he tell you what he told me?”

For the first time a different kind of confusion than the love kind drew a puzzled look on your face.

“No,” you said perplexed. “I haven’t spoken with him since earlier.”

“Because if this is your reaction… Is this… If you…” he looked down, blocking you from seeing the tumultuous waves of emotions hit him.

“Steve didn’t _say_ anything, Bucky” you insisted. "What did he even talked about?"

There was no immediate reply, but a long silence between the two of you. The sounds of the bustling nightlife below even came back to you while the blood pulsing through your ears slowly quieted.

When he spoke, his head was still down, hidden behind that deep honeyed brown hair. You could barely hear him, speaking so quietly his words were almost lost in the night air.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered. “You were almost… I watched them _butcher_ _you_ , Y/N. And I was helpless to do anything. Then when you were healing… You almost didn’t make it. I stayed with you the whole time, terrified deeper than I ever felt in all those fucking years at Hydra, that any second would be your last. That you would be _gone_ , out of my life forever.”

He looked up to you and you didn’t try to compose your face from it’s openly displayed heartbreak. There wasn't a point to try. He continued, his heartbreak mirroring your own and just as tense as you were.

“ _Don’t_ ask me to leave you. I _can’t,_ ” You weren’t sure if there were tears in his eyes or if that was the just the trick of the city lights. “Get it through your goddamn head that I’m not just going to _leave_ you. I need you, Y/N.”

“Bucky…” you started.

In a few bounds he was hurriedly in front of you. You were pressed back to the railing, hands up on his shoulders to brace yourself.

For a split second, you saw a longing in his blue eyes that you felt in the pit of your stomach before his lips crashed into yours.

It was impossibly heated kiss against your cold lips, moving against them and bring them back to life. His hand tangled into your hair, pulling you deeper into him. His arm found its way around your waist, pulling you flush against him, hips grinding into yours. Your lips parted, opening up to him, skin tingling all over your body as that longing in your stomach overtook you and spread through to your very fingertips. You reached your hands up entwining your fingers into his hair, pulling him down into you. All you could think of was that you needed _more_ , you wanted him _closer_. His smell, his feel, his body pressed against and wanting yours.

You had been fighting this, these feelings. You hadn’t experienced them, you couldn’t trust them yet. But there was also history between you that made you keep him at arm’s length. Something that made you feel like this is the opposite of what you should be feeling for him. If people found out whathappenedn they would think you should hate him. That you should despise him. But you _didn’t_ and you _couldn’t_.

Catching hold of those thoughts, you broke free of his lips, body almost shaking at the sudden loss of something that so completed its longing while also intensifying it.

“Bucky,” you gasped, hands moving back down to his chest to push him away. You couldn’t look at him, knowing you would be unable to see either his sadness at the separation, or happiness at the connection, or anything else in between and not _immediately_ push your lips to his again. If you did you worried you would never stop, never let him go.

“Bucky,” you repeated almost pleading, wanting overwhelmingly to be able to step away or step closer. 

He held a loose grip on you, giving you the choice to break free from him or not. You couldn’t work up the strength to do either. The kiss had been so deep and so quick and you wanted _so much more_ your body was practically shouting for it.

“Tell me,” he breathed, head tilted down to you and so temptingly close.

Tell him what? How you felt? How much you wanted this, wanted _him_? About your shared past? How much he would hate you for lying to him?

The air in your lung beat in and out of your chest, pressing against his own chest as you fought to form words. You could only close your eyes and not answer any one of the hundred questions you should have.

“Don’t tell Steve,” you sputtered, unable to say what you had really wanted too.

You wondered if the sound he made at that was a soft chuckle, as he inched closer to you again. The possessive warmth of his hands again moved tighter around your waist, holding you closer again. His breath cascading down your cheek, before his head tilted just slightly to hold his lips just above your temple. You felt him place a feather-light kiss there, so soft and so gentle you almost convinced yourself it didn't happen at all. You should have pushed him away, made it clear or at least made it so you could get some space. But you didn’t protest his affectionate gesture, the most tender moment either of you had experienced in the better part of the last century. How could you pull away from that?

All you could do was move closer til no space between you remained, you nose brushing along his jawline and the low hum of his unspoken contentment filling your soul until there wasn't room for anything else.

For a time you held him and were held by him, covered in warmth and darkness.

However beautiful and wonderful this felt, your instincts couldn't be concealed forever. And your gut said this was _bad_. So rarely it was wrong too.

* * *

You don’t think you had ever been more tired and also more unable to sleep.

Bucky laid there with you like the two of you had night after night. You remembered back when you realized how intimate this truly was, but damn this was on an _entirely_ different level of intimate.

 _What the_ hell _am I doing?!_

You tried not to squirm, staying so unnaturally still against him that it must have been noticeable just the same. His body was in line with yours, warm firm lines of his sculpted muscles glued to your legs, up to your hips, abdomen and chest, to your head that lay in the crook of his neck. You felt his chest rise and fall against yours, feeling his soft breath against the top of your head and falling down your cheek. Just like it had as he held you on the balcony, warm hands moving against you, the taste of his kiss on your tongue...

_Oh god, what am I doing?!_

You couldn't relax at all, pinned under him and beautifully comfortable while also ragingly uncomfortable simultaneously. Was he asleep? And more importantly, how could you not _tell_ if he was? It wasn’t a difficult thing to figure out, particularly when you were this fucking close to him. Oh fuck this was throwing you completely for a loop.

“I won’t bite," he muttered, his paper-light and sleep-hazy voice jarring you suddenly. "Or anything else. Sleep, Y/N.”

You practically felt dizzy at his words, and it was almost infuriating.

 _Wait, "anything else"? Did that mean he wanted to do other things? What did he want to do with you? Or maybe what did you want him to do to_ you _?_

The word "everything" came to mind, but at the very least you would settle for a kiss as good as the one you had just had, heating you so deep into your bones you didn't think you would _ever_ shake that fire. In sudden flash he had become a craving etched onto your soul and there would be no getting rid of it now.

You dug your face deeper into him, trying to hide in a situation that was impossible to hide in from feelings that weren't going to let up.

_Get your shit together and compartmentalize you fucking schoolgirl._

You took in a deep breath, filled with delicious Bucky scent that rolled off his chest. 

 _Focus_.

This was no different than any other night you had been in bed with him, right? What had happened earlier didn’t alter this. Your feelings didn’t have a place here and now. You were going to ignore them and _sleep_ because damn it, you were so tired you felt sick.

_I can do this._

"Sleep darlin'," he whispered, the words melting into you as his lips found there way down to your temple, pushing delicately soft into your hair.

And it was no surprise you didn't get a minute of sleep at all that night.

 


	12. Too Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's safe to say that I enjoy writing 8k+ chapters with long scenes, so for this one I went with a bit of a different format. Hopefully you enjoy!

“We’ll bag and tag til it’s done,” Clint said, giving you a high five as he walked by. You couldn’t help but smile a little as the first wave of Avengers geared up.

You were in the weapon supply room just off the quinjet hangar, watching as the Team pulled out their individual weapon compartments, strapping gear to their tactical suits. Everyone was hustling around with an excited energy, ready to stop talking about this and start acting on the plans the Team had made.

Because the ending was in sight- _finally_ \- and it began in earnest today.

“Please,” Nat called out to him, rolling her eyes. But she smiled too as she grabbed her piano wire clip and attaching the tiny box to her wrist.

“I’ll see your “please” and raise you one,” you smiled at her, crossing your legs from your spot on the narrow bench while you watched the others. “You _love_ this low-tech spy stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she admitted, admiring her dual Glock 26s before holstering them. “I do love a good piece of modern technology. But the classics are still around for a reason.”

The Black would meet their end at the hands of the Russian spy if the determined glint in her eye was an indication.

Yesterday had been a full day of talking and planning, because although The Black were a hidden, deadly force? Well, so were you and at one point you had known them intimately. Now you were going to use that against them.

They hadn't managed to kill you or capture you, so you and the Team had spent the previous day figuring out locations and possible safehouses where they could be hidden away. Some you could pinpoint, others were vague inclinations. Working with Natasha and Tony and various member of the Team as they gave input, you had come up with quite the number of possibilities.

The day had been a flurry of activity, with quick glances to Bucky as he would enter in and out of the tactical conversations with Steve. Entering the lab Bucky would nod to you each time, deep blue eyes reassuring and steady. Eventually, you notice Steve started to do the same. He would look at you and nod to you, those light blue eyes of his softening just a bit. Just enough to give you hope. Whatever Bucky was saying to him was taking hold, and you tried not to let the happiness or guilt of that overshadow the task at hand.

Now the low-tech angle was necessary for this work and it involved some careful planning.

The lighting you had witnessed before tunneling down to Bucky and Steve wasn’t lightning at all, but some electromagnetic targeted weapon. They had gone off at the bases, shorting out anything running on electricity with a not so subtle explosion. With your distance from the bases, it kept you up and running but the Team comms not so much.

That and Tony’s suit, actually; he had been like a tuna in a can. He went crazy trying to figure out a way to keep his tech from being affected, but if they set off enough blasts, there was no way from anything to reboot fast enough. Hence everyone now going out pretty low-tech. The quinjets were a risk to fly, but everyone wanted this done ASAP and the plan was to land them a ways out from where they were going. They had an idea of how far due to your distance from the blasts the last time.

“The classics are still around for a reason?" Steve repeated Nat, coming from further back in the supply room, shield attached securely to the back of his dark navy stealth suit. "Are you talking about me?” 

“You're less classic and more _ancient_ at this point, Rogers,” Nat said dryly, throwing him a look and a sly grin before sauntering outside towards the quinjet with Clint following behind her. He gave a mock salute to you by way of goodbye, strapping his quiver on securely.

You could feel the heaviness in the air settle in quickly as the two spies exit left you and Steve alone in the small space. Never one to avoid a person or situation (even if you maybe you would have preferred it in this case), he walked up to you with a tight, polite smile.

In the time since the med bay incident, he had seemed to cool down. You knew it was due in no small part to Bucky. You weren't sure if you were more put on edge because of what _Steve_ could have told Bucky or what _Bucky_ could have told Steve. If either had spilled the beans though, either emotional explosion would have hit you by now (you hoped).

You took a deep breath, standing up and eyes locked to his, an apology already in them before you could voice it. You had already almost lost him in the last couple weeks- in more ways than one- and you just didn't want to lose him again. Not over this.

“Have I told you that I’m sorry?” you started, sincerity dripping in every soft word. A lot of apologies had passed between you two through the years, but this had a certain poignancy to it.

His smile turned from polite to sympathetic at the honesty behind your apology, sending relief through you. It all but confirmed Bucky smoothing things over on your behalf before this, and you made a note to thank him for that later.

“No, but I thought you would be," His postured relaxed, shoulder dropping. He hated being at odds as much as you did. "Bucky said you've been pretty beat-up over it. And you know I wouldn't cause you more pain intentionally, right?"

Of that, you knew well. All you could do but mirror that sympathetic smile back to him. Even if he was angry for what you had done, Steve's guilt of his actions was bound to overpower that eventually. Apparently he had hit the tipping point and you were relieved because you had had enough of this distance too.

“I know you would have a good reason for keeping… exactly whatever it is you’re keeping from me," he said, trying to gloss over the point of contention between you. And he was right; you did have a good reason. "From all of us. But I just want you to know that whatever it is you’ve done, we’d _forgive_ you, Y/N.”

You didn't let your face fall at his words, a tinge of sadness pulling at you. You kept your smile on your face and nodded, trying not to feel bad about the fact that he thought you were the one that had done something terrible, and that was why you were covering it up. That wasn't the truth of it at all though. You were very upfront about the trauma you had caused and destruction you had brought to the world.

But this time it was Bucky that had done something terrible, and for some reason it hurt a little that the only possibility Steve could imagine was that it was you instead.

“I know. And I’m genuinely sorry that I _can’t_ tell you, Steve. Really,” You tried to sound soft and regretful, because that part was true. You hated this, but your feelings didn't change the facts.

“Apology accepted,” he conceded, not pushing it. "Maybe at some point, you'll be able too. And I'll be here to listen, Y/N. Not get angry or upset, but listen."

"Will do, Captain," you responded, smile growing just a little.

He took a deep breath, looking out from the weapons room to the quinjet beyond the open door. The tension in the room that was once there was gone in an instant.

"In the meantime, we've got bigger problems to deal with," he said, before turning back to you. "Too bad you'll be sitting this one out."

"A lie if I ever heard one," you said cheekily, poking him in the chest. "If I had insisted on going with you, I'm sure I would have had one blue-spangled Captain pulling rank."

“Well regardless," he deflected, looking at you with a gleam in his eyes. "At least promise to _behave_ while we’re gone?”

There was something in the way he said that- light-hearted and joking- that made your chest tighten. You made a face, eyebrows pulling together and throat constricting slightly. Immediately you wondered if one ex-Winter Soldier had talked to Steve about a certain _moment_ on the balcony... You were not ready to have that conversation with yourself even, much less with Bucky, or Steve or anyone else.

“I’ll keep us both alive whoever chooses to come knocking," you said, not taking the bait though you were itching to ask. "I promise."

He gave you a coy smile that instantly made you narrow your eyes with lips in a tight line. That little look broke your resolve and you couldn't resist but give in.

“Okay, what did he tell you, Rogers," you said, arms crossed and tone dark.

Steve shrugged, walking backward out of the weapons room with that boyish smile of his.

“You know what, I would fill you in but Brooklyn boys don’t kiss and tell.”

“ _Oh god_!” you exclaimed, slapping a hand to your face as he smartly slunk away.

_Damnit Bucky!_

You made a point not to be around until everyone was on the jet and ready to go, the flush in your face probably still visible from the quinjet windows as the first set of Avengers left in a whirlwind of blowing air and loud engines. The second team was not far behind.

And with that, everyone was going off to find the remaining members of The Black and take them in. The plan was to hopefully find more Hydra info along the way too. You knew that they kept tabs on them, just as vice versa it was the same. They’d have had to meet or speak with the higher-ups and hopefully had left clues to their whereabouts. With the amount of spies on the Team, you doubted they would fail.

You remembered the last time you watched them leave, standing in the same spot with arms crossed and eyes watching the jet until it faded from view. Later that night The Black had come, starting this whole mess. At the time you had wanted to go with them but were resolved to stay. This time things were different.

Both you and Bucky hadn’t been assigned a team or mission. Bucky had volunteered (or moreso demanded) to stay with you. No one questioned your lack of involvement, not explicitly asking if you were going or staying, and you didn’t either. Because, despite assumptions, if you hadn’t _agreed_ to stay behind, you weren’t necessarily _bound_ to stay at the Tower, were you?

They would assume that you would be here, healing and recuperating.

But actually you were feeling quite ready to jump back into the fray.

* * *

**_Day One, 14:00 hours_ **

“Were you going to tell me?” Bucky said, nonchalantly brushing something invisible off of his metal arm. "Or keep avoiding me?"

He found you sometime after the Team left in the weapons room, suited up with your hood and gloves on. You hadn't been avoiding him exactly, just barely let him get a word in edgewise since waking up in his arms yesterday morning, the heat of his kiss still burning your mouth. Since then, every time he so much as looked like he was going to ask you something related to that moment, you spoke over him and made yourself busy with plans. 

"I'm not _avoiding_ you Bucky," you said, stepping into your black boots. "I'm just focusing on the mission."

"The one you're not technically apart of," he pointed out, walking in closer.

"I mean, if you want to be _technical_ about it, no I'm not," you said lightly. That would hardly be enough of a reason to keep you away.

You looked up to see that soft glint of _something_ in his eyes. Like it had for days your breath stopped in your chest and you cut him off before he could speak.

“Well, and you _did_ say you were going to stay with me. I just happen not to be staying _here,_ ” You zipped your duffel bag closed, it packed tight. “I figured you would automatically be down for the ride. So how about he shoot over to Prague? It must be just lovely this time of year.”

Bucky stepped right up to you before he shrugged off a large pack that was strapped around one arm, it hitting the ground hard. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

There was some kind of mischief in his eyes. He actually wanted to go, and unlike what you thought, didn’t seem to be putting up a fight to keep you under lock and key.

You studied him for a moment, assessing this change in attitude.

“You really want to go,” you said, less a question and more statement.

“I think a fight is what you need," he shrugged. "And the sooner this is over, the better.”

That comment was thinly veiled and you swallowed the hard lump in your throat.

"Listen, I'm going to say this, and you're going to hear," he said, the deep timbre of his voice felt down to your toes. You opened your mouth to speak but it was his turn to cut you off. "No emotions, just facts, alright?"

You held back a sigh, bracing yourself as you gave him one curt nod. 

"We get this done, right?" he started. "We wrap this up and keep you out of their hands and Hydra's hands. That'll be the focus."

He took a step closer, his toes to yours and head bent down just slightly, his deep gaze locked.

"Then we talk about things. You and I," he said quietly. "Agreed?"

You took a few extra moments watching the love of your very long life before you, then gave another nod, slower this time. The tension you had braced your muscles with was gone now. He was agreeing to fight, agreeing to focus, agreeing to give you space, at least emotionally. That you could definitely deal with.

"So," he said, back to his normal volume as he grabbed his duffel and yours, walking out to the exit with renewed purpose. "Let's get out there and get this done."

You snorted at that, following in step beside him. “Then if you’re so eager, _you_ can tell the Team where we’re going.”

* * *

**_Day Four, 23:00 hours_ **

“Why not Jamie, is all I’m saying.”

You dodged to the side as a fist went towards your face, and you swung upwards, connect with a hearty _thwack_ to his jaw. You had on your favourite accessory: metal knuckled fingerless gloves and wit your strength and speed, they packed quite the forceful punch. The Black agent went down, unconscious, slumping into the dirty concrete on a dark, moonless night in Prague

“Because it’s _Bucky,_ ” you partner sighed into his gun scope, crouching and concealed behind a crumbling half-wall in this courtyard.

He fired several repeated shots, high pitched pings and the groans of men being put down with rubber bullets. Even in the patchy floodlight lit space outside a warehouse, you two were hard-pressed not to hit your targets.

“I’m not saying it’s preferable, just cur- _three men on your eleven_ \- curious.”

You kicked the groin of another man, grabbing his head as he bent over in pain and smashed it against the concrete block wall. He slumped down unconscious as you ran over and threw yourself back against the little half-wall barricade beside Bucky.

It hadn't been hard to tell that this wasn't The Black's headquarters as it was too run down and decrepit. Nonetheless you were going to clean house anyways.

“Two snipers, bottom window, south-west corner, no clean shot," Bucky mumbled back, your ears still catching it above the shouts of your enemy scrambling around. "And it’s not like I picked my own name.”

“Launch. And touché.”

You pulled the metal tab of a small oblong metal tube and threw it lightly over to Bucky. He easily grabbed it in one hand and lobbed it, bullets pelleting his metal arm as it was raised out of cover.

The tell-tale gas hiss that erupted from it started both of your mental countdowns. You nodded to each other at the same time a second before a plume of opaque grey smoke filled the warehouse courtyard, getting up and running with guns firing.

* * *

**_Day Eight, 19:00 hours_ **

“Hey, how’s it going?” you asked into the flip phone.

“All good here," Steve said on the other end. "We just got back; thought I’d have to miss our daily call. How’re things there?”

You shrugged to no one, the fast dimming orange and pink glow of the sun ust having set below the horizon, with another deep navy black night about to take it's place.

“Yeah, pretty slow here I guess," you admitted. "We’ve jus—Hey, sorry, can you give me a sec?”

You put the phone down on the lip of a dumpster in the double-wide alleyway, the red of the crumbling bricks not much hiding your black-clad frame. You slammed your fists into the man running at you: one to the face and one to the stomach. He went down gasping.

Another two came out from around the corner, running full force to greet you. You had a quick moment to assess them, seeing no weapons, but leather gloves. Clearly someone had warned the other safe houses about the Teams attacks. Steve and his team were in one locale, Tony's in another, with you and Bucky going a bit rogue and dealing with some smaller bases yourselves (however ill-advised, the others seemed to have somewhat gotten over it).

You quickly ducked the first man, your gun ringing out to strike him while your foot swung up and connected with the second man’s jaw with a terrible crack. Both men fell at the same time with a thud. The first one had a rubber bullet to the head at close range. Yeesh, that would sting.

“Sorry, yeah I’m good," you said once you picked up the phone again. "Just finishing up. Really wanting a burrito or taco or something? What was that place Clint and I liked back in New York?”

Muffled voices before Steve answered back, while an angry voice behind you singled another assailant coming your way.

“Clint says Tiny’s Big Town Tacos," Steve responded and you could practically hear his slight frown. "Though I really don’t think that shop is in eastern Europe, Y/N.”

“That’s too bad,” You held your phone as you swung your leg up again, hitting the man square in the chest before swinging around again with a kick to his face, sending him straight into the side of the dumpster.

“How’s Buck?” 

You headed off to the exit of the alleyway, about to the turn the corner.

“Hmm, he was around here just a second ago…” An explosion boomed in the background, debris clattering down as you threw yourself against the corner wall, crouching to take cover as you peered around it. “Found him.”

You grunted and got up, running lightning fast through the open area as shots fired in your direction through the smoke and fire around you. Throwing yourself down against another alley wall, you looked through the haze of destruction and saw your assassin.

“BUCKY,” you shouted across the distance, holding the receiver to your hand to muffle your yelling. “STEVE SAYS “HEY”!”

“SAY “HEY” BACK!” Bucky shouted over his shoulder as you watched his back, just as a strangled scream came from the enemy he no doubt had in front of him.

“Bucky says hello," you said into the phone conversationally. "We’re doing pretty good here, just wrapping—“

Someone emerged a few feet from you, not seeing you crouched there. You swept his legs, bringing your heel down hard on his temple. Immediately you sent a rubber bullet into his chest, more out of habit as he was clearly unconscious.

“-up here, not too much activity to report. Kind of a slow night.”

“Uh, Y/N," Again, you could hear that frown. "It really doesn’t _sound_ slow.”

“Well, it’s boring at any rate,” You fired four more shots as two men came careening out of the alleyway you had been in a few minutes before. “Some tacos would certainly liven it up.”

Before Steve could interject, you shouted out again to Bucky.

“HOW ABOUT TACOS?”

“STOP YELLING ABOUT TACOS. I TOLD YOU ALREADY, WE’LL GET SOME.”

“Tacos are back on the menu,” you smiled into the receiver. “That means I’ll have this place cleaned up fast. Can you signal Tony?”

“Yeah, he’ll be there soon," Steve said, sounding a mix of resigned and happy. "We’ll get The Black you picked up and sent to the Raft for questioning. But uh, no casualties, right?”

“None yet, but if I’m here and without tacos much longer, there may be," you joked darkly. "I’ll talk with you tomorrow?”

“That's a copy, Y/N,” You could sense his smile through the phone. “Goodnight, and don’t have too much fun.”

* * *

**_Day Twelve, 21:00 hours_ **

“We’re not waiting another _three days,"_ Bucky seethed into the phone, pacing the floor. _"_ We’ve been sitting on this one for two days already.”

You cleaned out your gun for the thousandth time, carefully inspecting each piece as you mildly watched him from across the room. You had both been in full mission mode for almost two weeks now. You'd gotten into a steady routine of recon, strategize, attack. It was hard sitting around and waiting when neither of you were wired that way. The sustained adrenalin and icy focus were drilling through your veins and it was hard to merely stop, especially when there was another safehouse not a few blocks over.

Unfortunately this one had a lot more people, and with it being just the two of you here, you had been waiting on the one of the two group of your Team to wrap up their safehouse take-over and come assist. 

Silently you continued cleaning your gun, eyes flicking up to Bucky periodically. The space you were in tonight was the top floor of abandoned storage tower for a water treatment plant, the only light from a small electric lantern in the corner. As the shadows cast and moved across Bucky's face it made his expression of irritation look all the deeper.

“Then we’ll go to the one in Lüddengar… Yeah, Sam told me… Well then, blame _him_. But we’re not sitting around again with nothing to do.”

He slammed the phone shut and crossed his arms, looking at nothing in particular, mind turning behind his intent blue eyes. You straightened up where you sat on the floor.

“So, when do we leave?” you asked, cocking your assembled gun, quite unnecessarily.

* * *

**_Day Thirteen, 16:00 hours_ **

“C’mon,” you said through gritted teeth. “You can do it.”

Half carrying up Bucky up the stairs of this damned tower was hard enough. With his arm and side covered in slick and slippery blood, you were struggling to keep a grip on him.

Eventually you made it to the top, and you both collapsed down on a short stack of wooden pallets in the dingy room you had called home base for the last few days. It was run down and long neglected, with blackened cobwebs and gritty floors. No inside lights were functioning and you were running out of natural light, with the sun about to set on you. In your haste you didn't think to turn on the little lantern, your mind on Bucky alone.

“You with me?” you said, dragging over your duffel bag with bloody hands and rifling through it for the medical supplies. You absently pushed your loose hair behind your ears as you quickly scrambled through the supplies, a smear of blood on your cheek where your fingers touched skin.

“Always,” he muttered, lifting up his arm to take a look at it as the blood flowed down from it.

“If you need a transfusion I’ll call them in. Or we’ll head to Dr. Cho,” you said, eyeing the blood as your hands found what you needed. He didn’t seem all too stable. “The Team will be at the site soon anyways. They’ll wrap up there.”

“Jus' need stitches,” His words weren’t quite slurred but had a lethargic quality to them that made you wince.

“Yeah, right,” you said, kneeling between his legs.

This close his face was a wash of greyish white, eyes not quite focusing on you despite being a breath away from him. Bucky blinked slowly with gaze casted down and your hand went to his cheek.

“Hey, hey. Look at me?" you coaxed, hands on either side of his face as you tried to bring him back to reality. His eyes slid over to look at you. "There you go. I’m right here, alright? We’re going to get this done.”

You carefully pulled off his leather jacket and shirt underneath, revealing his cut open side and arm. The deep gash went all the way up from his hip bone and curved over at his peck to wrap around his arm slightly. It was red and raised and covered in blood. You could see the sinew and muscle and organs underneath, stringy or smooth or jagged.

As you began to work, stitching and blotting, you couldn’t help but picture that torso pressed against yours. Maybe you would be wearing the same amount of clothes. Maybe less.

You groaned internally and gritted your teeth, focusing back to task. You _wished_ blood and split open skin bothered you more, that you weren't so used to seeing the workings of people's insides that it hardly fazed you. Maybe that would’ve been more of a distraction if you had a more queasy disposition and less of a history butchering people.

God, this love thing was making you even more of a sick person.

“'M heal in hours,” he murmured above you, eyes closing of their own volition.

“You won’t take long to heal, I know," you assured, his blood dripping down your hands and arms now. "I just need to get this done so you survive that long.”

* * *

**_Day Thirteen, 21:00 hours_ **

“I got this. We’ll rendezvous soon? Okay… Bye Steve.” You hung up the phone and stretched slightly, limbs heavy as you sat with your back against the wall.

Bucky was exhausted.

 _You_ were exhausted.

Usually, if you were back at the Tower, that would mean the both of you would quietly curl up together, fitting like warm pliable puzzle pieces in the dark and comfort of his bed. You'd feel the heat of his breath trickle down your cheek, listen to the steady calming drum of his heartbeat, feel the subtle movement of his fingertips on your skin.

Not exactly possible here and now.

You couldn’t sleep beside him or near him; he was too injured. That left a twisted pit in your stomach as all you could think about was if you had another nightmare, and what could mean if someone heard it. This dark evening had been nightmarish enough on its own as it was.

You frowned, jaw clenched. Indecision _used_ to mean you ended up severely hurt or most likely dead. It had been beaten out of you long ago and you recoiled at both the decision you had to make and the brief moment where you just didn’t want to make it.

But a bitter moment later it was made. You stood slowly, put on your metal-plated gloves, and got to work.

The jagged, broken window glass was easy enough to break as you grabbed a large piece and yanked. Then another, and another. Soon you figured you had enough pieces.

You placed them as quietly as you could on the ground in the corner, took out your gun, and brought the handle down hard on the glass. It wasn’t terribly loud but it certainly made noise so you made quick work of it.

“What’re you doing?” Bucky asked, his words heavily laced with a mix of pain, drugs, and sleep.

He was resting on a wooden pallet, his duffel bag under his head and your jacket carefully placed across his chest. His lids lay heavy and the deep blue could barely be made out from his corner across the darkened room.

“An old habit… a… useful one,” you said, voice betraying your exhaustion before continuing on in a murmur. “If you can stomach it.”

Carefully spreading out the tiny shards, you left a large space in the dead centre. You slipped off your gloves and rolled up your sleeves, eyeing that spot with grim nostalgia filling you. You stepped in the centre, kneeled, and then lied down carefully wrapping your arms tight across you and brought your knees up to your chest. 

“Wha' the hell 're you doin'…?” he slurred, trying to move himself. His body didn't make it far- not even rolling off of the pallet to the concrete below- head lulling to the side to see you better. You cast your face down and pulled your hood up over you, trying to look like you were going to sleep but your eyes were wide.

“If you have a nightmare, I’ll wake up,” you said, calm and quiet. “The glass… If I lash out in my sleep, I’ll cut myself and wake up.”

“No…” he muttered, again trying dismally to get up and failing.

You had given him something for the pain a while back. He would be out cold soon enough. You would wake up if he had a nightmare, but there was no guarantee that he would wake up in time to stop you from screaming out in your sleep and announcing to the enemy where you were.

This was just like old times, back when you first escaped.

But at least you weren’t alone this time around.

“It’ll be alright, I promise.”

* * *

**_Day Sixteen, 14:00 hours_ **

“They say it’s someone named Gerault. He was on your Hydra list, right?" Nat asked, voice a little static-y through the old flip phone. "Ring any bells?"

  _Shit_.

It didn't just ring a bell; more like every ounce of self-preservation was blaring alarm bells through your whole body, rattling down to your bones.

The feeling seized you and you stood stock still in the middle of the quinjet. Immediately Buck was right up to you, your body language sparking his own defense reflexes. His hand automatically held the knife at his hips eyes scanning the jet before landing back to you.

“Yes,” you swallowed in reply after a few moments, looking at Bucky who watched you with furrowed brows. “Yes, it’ll be him.”

“Are you in?”

_No. No, I'm not. Never. You can't make me._

“Yeah,” you breathed the word heavily. Quickly you hung up the phone before you could say another word. 

The two you stood in silence in the jet while you reconciled this information, Bucky waiting patiently and protectively for you to fill him in. His hands found their way to your arms, holding you with a light warm touch that you didn't even notice.

Feelings of drifting and dying in an endless, nightmarish void sprung to your mind instead.

“They found the new head of Hydra,” you told Bucky, face contorting just a little as you spoke his name. “It’s Gerault.”

“One of your old handlers,” His voice was low, holding back a threat not meant for you. You only nodded before moving quickly to the pilot chairs, entering in coordinates to Nat’s location.

You knew from his look and tone that he didn't need reminding of the first nightmare you had had in his room. It was Gerault's name you had screamed out and railed against.

Of course it was him there now and of course he was the new head of Hydra. Who _else_ better to torture you.

* * *

**_Day Twenty-One, 23:00 hours_ **

Voices of your Team filled the small space, each Avenger talking fast and urgent. You barely registered any of it.

“If they are all here, we can’t take this one alone.”

“Both jets are down. We don’t have a choice.”

Explosions sounded on the ground above you, shaking dirt down in your small, underground room. The only light in the whole place being a single bulb, swinging wildly back and forth and illuminating the dust and debris falling down.

The only thing still in this cramped space was you.

“We _do_ have a choice; we walk away.”

“Literally on foot with our back’s to the enemy? And going _where_ exactly?”

“Comms are out.”

“We weren’t even using them.”

“Okay, well I checked _anyways_. Sorry for being thorough.”

“Alright, enough. We’re splitting up into teams and completing the mission. We can still do that. Tony is expecting an update in under forty minutes. We miss that and he’ll send in back up. But we can’t stay here. We’re sitting ducks.”

As a question was pointed at you, and it snapped you back to the conversation that had been clattering on without you. Nat’s eyes watched you carefully, waiting for your answered once she spoke;.

“We need the numbers, are you up for this?”

You had time to think that question through, asking yourself the same thing long before this moment. You thought on it on the flight here. Had time during the first (failed) wave of a fight against this expansive base to consider the options. But there was never any doubt on what you knew you would pick. The only real way to win this was to fight through it, so fight through it you would.

“We’re in,” you said distantly, not realizing you spoke for both yourself and Bucky.

She nodded, and Steve again took over. “Alright, Y/N and Bucky, you stick to the perimetre. Everyone else, pair up.”

* * *

**_Day Twenty-One, 23:31 hours_ **

“We go in, or stay out?” you asked. God, how you did _not_ want to go in there. Not even half an hour and this was already failing. _Again_.

“It’s a bad call," Bucky said darkly. "And you know it.”

He wasn't wrong. They knew you were here. Hydra knew. Gerault would know now too if he wasn't already inside waiting for you. This was a shitty call.

But your family was still your family, and one of them needed you.

“I know, but he’s _hurt_ , Bucky," you said, crouched next to him in a ditch behind a metal fence.

Again, another decision was made, digging you deeper and deeper into a dark unknown.

* * *

**_Day Twenty-One, 23:43 hours_ **

You both stalked in, side by side, weapons ready and sweat dripping. This long blue-hued hallway was filled with pipes and crevices and billowing steam, casting shadows in every corner.

It was cool and quiet, exactly what you were trying to be. Usually that came easily to you on a mission, but this was different. Your boot slid out from underfoot slightly, the gritting sound echoing quietly, and Bucky looked to you, holding his machine gun forward still. He gave you an encouraging nod.

Shit, was it that easy to see your discomfort? You took a slow breath in and kept walking along side him.

The only other sounds came from a distance away, with what you were hoping was the Team making headway. Last you heard, Clint had been hurt.

This was not going to be a quick and clean fight. This was going to be drawn out and bloody, if Hydra had anything to say about it. You were banking on being able to steer it into another direction.

You both heard sounds up ahead and immediately you stepped forward quickly to engage, though you couldn’t see who or what was coming. Bucky on the other hand, grabbed you swiftly, half picking you up and moved you both into the narrowest little opening in the wall.

With the enemy approaching you couldn’t interject or you’d give your position away so you snapped your mouth shut. He pushed you both deeper inside the dark, dank slit.

Your feet weren’t touching the floor and you were pinned almost painfully between Bucky and the wall. It was so tight you didn’t have to hang onto him nor he to you (though he did), his hips and body squeezing tightly against yours. Your mouth was level with his, noses almost touching, and heavy breath mingling with his. You couldn’t lean back, couldn’t lean away, just remained crushed up against him.

Your heart began beating furiously, and you hoped he would think it was from mission adrenalin as streams of men began walking by, guns and weapons at the ready.

But it definitely wasn’t.

You swallowed down the saliva pooling in your mouth, trying to steady yourself but you just couldn’t. Your heart raced on, mouth just a whisper away from his lips, his arms around your body, feeling his hips line up so perfectly with yours as you tried not to squirm under him. You could see the stumble on his chin, his tightly clenched jawline, feel his hair brush against your cheek, eyes looking down to you.

The only thing you could do was push your forehead to his, shutting your own eyes tightly.

The sound of boots hitting the ground thundered on for what must have been minutes, echoing loudly down the hall. Through that time you felt Bucky shift. You felt the lightest, hottest touch of his lips moving down your jawline, then touching the sensitive skin on your throat. You swallowed, biting your tongue keep from gasping for air in the overheated space. You pressed your face into his cheek trying to both slow down time and speed it up. 

The raging sea in your soul you called love just about drown you where you were pinned, crashing over you and reminding you of its power. For weeks on these missions you had held it at bay, focusing on the tasks at hand to keep yourself from sinking under its waves.

But he was _so close_. He was right here and so were you and you wanted him so _badly_ you could barely stand it.

To your relief and despair, the sounds of the men dissipated and the mission had no choice but to resume.

Bucky turned slightly, shifting slowly inch by inch with you attached to him back towards the opening.

“They’re gone,” he whispered to you before exiting, setting you down gently.

You only gave a single nod as that was all you could muster, your bodies still so close together you could feel the heat rolling off of him. Neither of you moved for a moment, but eventually you stepped back and the two of you carried on down the cold hallway.

This headquarters was expansive and some time down the same hall, you heard an eerie buzzing noise.

A loud static-y wail sounded, and for a moment your step faltered before the intercom rang out.

“ _Soldat_.”

That one word buzzed through the intercom, freezing both you and Bucky for a moment. With a deep breath, you both kept moving forward.

They were always going to try and throw you off to torture you. Looks like that now spread to the Team too. You heart constricted as that word rang out three more times in that haunting tone. You saw in Bucky's eyes nothing of the heat you did minutes before, just a guarded stony gaze looking out through his machine gun's scope.

Suddenly intercom switched, and it was your voice on the speakers, echoing down through the complex.

“ _Bucky_ …” It was breathy. Filled with longing. Intimate.

You remembered it instantly from when you and he were on the balcony. After he spilled how agonized he was, how he could do nothing but watch as you almost died in front of his eyes twice. How he couldn’t leave you. Just before he kissed you.

Instinctively you reached out for him, grabbing his arm.

They had been there. They had been listening. They would’ve seen you.

“I know,” he whispered, instantly understanding too.

This was such a sick fucking game and you wanted it done with. Now.

You picked up your pace, Bucky following suit as the two of you were forced to listen to your voice call out for him over and over.

* * *

**_Day Twenty-Two, 00:53 hours_ **

Every room was locked down this unending corridor that you tried. All but one single room.

Inside was a huge open space, far too big for you to feel safe in, just like you felt out on that balcony. It was impossibly tall, like a massive silo, but with platform and ladders spiraling up it in a grimy green hue. To the side some distance into the room was a small screen on a stand with some electronics, the only modern piece of equipment in this dated space.

Your body screamed for you start fighting something, anything. To destroy the screen, take down an enemy, push your way out. But their back up should have long arrived. You and Bucky weren’t alone here. You would make it out.

A grey blip and more static sounded before a face appeared on the TV screen.

“Hello Y/N.,” the man said. His eyes dark and beady, mouth and teeth too big for his face, hair thinning, and deep lines through his face.

“Gerault,” you said, sure that he could see you too. You noticed a little black webcam attached to the top of the screen.

“You look so _well_ ,” He was happy and pleased to see you, a twisted look of glee on his face. He smiled, large teeth taking it over. “I haven’t seen you since you left, you look simply marvelous.”

Just like with Andre there was a hunger to his beady little eyes. You remembered that look. You had seen it when he hacked your hand almost clean off, only to reattach it all while you were conscious. When he would burn you or light you on fire, only to graft someone else’s skin on you and do it again. When he would cut off strips of your skin and shove them in your mouth, your only source of sustenance for days. When he made you do the same to countless others.

But you weren’t strapped to that table anymore. You weren’t forced by his hand to do that anymore. Since the Team had said it was Gerault, you had known this would happen. So you stood, meeting his gaze head-on, body relaxed, and face hardened.

“What do you want, Gerault?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t answer truthfully.

“To congratulate you two,” he said, trying to sound sweet. “I can see from our footage that you two are quite the pair now. To think, all those years ago when Bucky first carried you into Hydra, screaming in his arms. Now you’re there quite willingly it looks like.”

Your face fell, arms dropping to your sides lifeless. 

_No, please no…_

“What?” Bucky asked hushed, machine gun still trained on the screen. But his threatening face had turned confused. "Y/N?"

“Don't,” you whispered tersely, trying not to get Bucky to egg Gerault on. But it was already way too late.

“Y/N?” Gerault asked you, realization dawned on his face followed by that toothy, creepy smile. “Ah, Y/N must have not _told_ you. Here let me explain. Soldat, you brought her in all those years ago. _You_ crept like a monster of the night into her bed and stole her away. You were her first handler, of sorts. You helped to break her down and molded her into the terrible force of nature that she is.”

“Bucky, just shoot him,” you choked out.

You could barely move, arms hanging limply at your side, body frozen in cold shock. Oh god, it felt like they were putting you on ice all over again. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. You had tried to keep this from him, tried so hard not to let this secret out. Now you stood there, too shocked to say or do anything to stop it.

“Out of everyone in the entire world, you brought her to us. She certainly wasn’t who we wanted you to bring back, but you did and aren't we glad for it. After some convincing on Y/N’s part, we realized what you had brought us was an asset. So we put her to use. _You_ put her to use.”

“Please, Bucky!”

“You ripped her, screaming, from her life. Maybe she would have gotten married, had kids, led a normal happy little life. You saved her from that worthless existence. You discovered her and sculpted her into our beloved Siren.”

This wasn’t right.

In a frenzied panic you realized that what you were feeling wasn’t a cold shock, stunning you into this frozen state. You legitimately couldn’t feel your legs or arms anymore, that familiar icy death creeping up rapidly across your body, feeling _exactly_ like they were putting you under. Oh god, you could feel the paralysis grip you and pull you under.

_Oh god, they're going to get me and I can't fight it!_

“Bucky!” you yelled, just as he fired a spray of bullets at the screen, the shattering glass hitting you, unable to stop it. 

A bullet hit a black metal box on the side of the TV stand and a mist of chemicals spewed out, flooding you with more of that overwhelming icy paralysis. It pricked your skin with a thousand pins before it went completely numb, spreading all over you. In a moment you would be completely overtaken, unable to stay conscious, while the super-soldiered Bucky would barely be feeling it, body metabolizing too fast.

Your heart seized in your chest as Bucky began to quickly walk away and you couldn’t turn to him, couldn’t explain what had happened. You couldn’t even see what he was feeling or fucking do anything!

“Bucky… _please_ ,” you choked out, feeling the icy grip around your neck. “Don’t let them… take me…”

_Bucky please! Don’t let them get me! Please, come back!_

* * *

**_Day Twenty-Two, ? hours_ **

You were strapped to this almost chair-like table, some contraption around your neck and the sides of your head, binding you in. As you were trained to, you tried moving every part of your body, finding out where a weak point was, if any. But your feet, knees, hips, waist, shoulders, arms, hands, neck and head were strapped in with an unrelenting metal. Or maybe that paralyzing agent was still coursing through you.

As fuzzy reality came back to you, you understood what this was. This was the same chair they used to use with you. It was molded to you, fitting you perfectly. They brought this in especially for you.

 _Oh god, please no! Please don’t let them do this!_ was all you could think, whatever liquid they had injected inside of you keeping you from putting together much more of a thought.

“We’re running out of time,” someone whispered above you in a thick accent. "She has to get back."

There was a spotlight in your eyes, blinding you from seeing the men who imprisoned you. A loud electric sound buzzed somewhere over your head along with a type of whirling and a high-pitched drilling like a dentist used to dig into teeth and bone. 

Someone plunged a rubber tray inside your mouth and you gagged on your own tongue as it was unceremoniously shoved back. This was so familiar and so foreign, like something experienced in another lifetime or horrific nightmare.

_Please don’t! Don’t! No! NO! DON'T!_

A sudden grinding noise followed, so loud you could barely hear the voices above you, eyes trying to blink away the blinding light as you struggled to get free.

“He’s here!”

“Just do it, wipe her mind now!”

A scream somehow rose up in your throat, shrill and unhinged in terror.

_Bucky! Please!_

But it was too late.


	13. Those Little Broken Pieces

“There’s nothing to reprint! You can’t simply reprint _memories_ like you can tissue!”

A low muffled reply followed. You wondered if it was Bucky, threatening Dr. Cho coldly to figure out a way. They must have been just outside your small med bay room, their silhouettes dancing on the frosted glass door. It was only dawn, the grey lighting casting grey shadows.

Again, you wiped your face with your hands, fingers pressing in hard. You ran them through your hair, searching the ends carefully, checking every piece. Again your stomach rolled and you reached for a tin bucket on your bed table as acidic bile rose up your throat and a few drops pushed out of your mouth with a shuddering heave.

Your ears rang with the memory of grinding gears, a deafening electrical buzz, and two booming gunshots. You hadn’t been laying down on a cot in a white medical room alone like you were now. Back at the Hydra complex, there had been two men room with you, strapping you to a dirty chair. 

When the shots rung out, they connected with the two men standing right above you. The blood splatter that exploded from their foreheads told you that it was not rubber bullets that hit them. Chunks of bone and brain sprayed down with the blood thickly on you, caught in your burning lungs, screaming mouth, and wide eyes.

For the hundredth time, you pulled your hands across your face and through your hair. You had been trying to wipe away the long washed away viscera, stomach trying to expel the pieces of the men’s split open heads whose last remnants had long been vomited up.

When the doors opened, you sat up slightly. “Bucky?”

But it was that Steve walked in, rearranging his anxious expression into a tight smile. No real happiness was found on his face or yours.

“Hey kid,” he started softly. “Room for one more?”

You put down the tin bucket back on the table, looking grimly at it before moving carefully to one side of the bed. Steve sat down there with you, putting his legs up on the cot and an arm over your shoulders.

“Dr. Cho is still uh, figuring things out. Some other doctors may be through too.”

“Steve,” you began but didn’t have it in you to finish.

There was nothing to be done. You knew that.

You curled up in his chest, balled fist above his heart. It was slightly faster than normal and you looked up to him, eyes desperately sad for a moment before he plastered another small smile on his lips.

“It’ll be okay," he tried to reassure. He was a great friend but a terrible liar. "We’ll get this figured out. I know we will.”

“I’m not,” you looked down, whispering. “I don’t feel like… myself. I don’t know… I don’t know what I… who I…”

There was this impossible moment after had Bucky stormed in, killing those men and freeing you. He carried you, dripping in the men’s blood to the jet while this thing- this _tentacle_ \- weaseled its way through your brain, destroying and scrambling up your life as it wriggled around. You screamed for someone or something to get it out while Bucky locked your arms to your sides, keeping you from clawing at your face and head to get at it. You wanted to gouge out your eyes or rip into your ears to get at the drilling, worming thing inside your skull. 

But as quickly as it started, it ended. You stood on the jet, shouts and yells and voices around you. You had felt hands push you towards the table, ready to scan you or examine you or something. Unwilling to lie down on that or any other table again, you were completely stunned as suddenly, in an instant, you were just not _you_ anymore.

There was this great divide in you, this huge conflict now. You were missing, in all ways but physical. Whole parts of you were completely gone.

You remembered your life before Bucky took you, clear as day like it had only been a mere couple years ago and not more than half a century.

Then there was Hydra.

You remembered being taken, being locked up, tortured, experimented on. You remembered snapshots of hazy drug-induced mania bringing you to the edge of death with every injection. 

Every face was so clear, every cut burned you, every poisonous liquid in your veins shaking and disintegrating you. You remembered someone standing behind you, glued to their body as they took your hands and slashed person after person. Then they were gone, and after simply speaking a few words you were doing it yourself now, completely unable to stop. You had kept track of the days back then, and there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred.

Then, nothing. Your mind was blank and decades of your life just _gone_.

The next memories were few personal vendetta missions before Steve caught up with you and brought you into the Avenger's fold.

You had been pulled from an older time to suddenly this modern future with no in between. Somehow able to remember yourself doing things- fight and kill and resist anyone with a collected cool- but you couldn’t for the life of you know _how_ you did it. You couldn’t picture yourself knocking someone out or _murdering_ so easily. But you had. 

You jumped from a young novice to a master at your craft, and now you were left with the memories of it but no real experience in it. In your mind, you looked back at your missions alone, then with Steve and the Team. You had no idea how to do any of that _any_ more of your own free will, not without the controlling Hydra looming over you and pulling your strings.

You were two people, utterly lost and completely at odds within yourself, the connecting piece just dissolving into nothingness.

“Talk me through this,” Steve said quietly, resting his head down on yours, arms wrapped around you, holding you together. 

You remembered doing that for Bucky during the first nightmare you witnessed, then he did it for you. A wave of intense misery washed over you, bringing tears to your eyes and a burning in your throat. Your friendship with Steve hadn’t dissipated with the mind-wipe, but neither did your feelings for Bucky. _He_ was the one you wanted here with you.

“I remember Kyiv?” you offered, sniffling in his shirt. “I can’t… there isn’t much before that.”

“You don’t remember your previous life at all? Where you were,” he asked grimly. He passed you a tissue and you took it, crumpling it in your hands distracted.

“No, I do. It was Hydra," you swallowed, fear clutching you like a hand around your throat. "They… I did things for Hydra.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not overly happy to have to confirm the news. “You were with them.”

“But I don’t remember it,” You looked to him with desperation. “Not all of it, I mean. Maybe the first few years but…”

“It’ll be okay, we’ll g–” But he stopped, body frozen for a moment. 

“What is it?”

“I hate to ask Y/N, I really do. But I need to know," he started, then spoke deliberately. “Do you remembered being triggered?”

“I… I don’t know," You didn’t want to think or talk about it, to be honest.

“Doing something that you had no control over, like someone was controlling you.”

“Um,” you sputtered, trying to keep down to all too recent-feeling memories and rolling nausea. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You wouldn’t have hurt the people you did willingly. But you had been alone many of those times and all you could do was internally scream at the top of your lungs, mentally begging for someone to stop you or kill you. Yet somehow through the years, you lived on, ending up here.

Steve took a deep breath in. “Do you remember being able to overcome them triggering you? Do you know how you did that?”

“I…” you stopped, having to actually think about that. “Steve I... I don’t.” 

Panic rose, tightening your chest and removing the oxygen from the room in a second.

_Oh god, no._

“You would sing," Steve began as you felt a terrible weight begin to crush you. "You would focus on a song and block everything else out. You described it to me before, like when a tune gets stuck in your head and you can’t think of anything else or stop singing it. Just for you, it was on a different level. It took you years to learn to do that, for your brain to overpower their brainwashing with that intense focus.”

“I don’t- I don’t think I can anymore.” 

_Oh no. Oh no no no._

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think to _try_ and breath with your mind racing too fast. Everything was too much. The suddenly grey light was too bright, the blanket covering you too claustrophobic, the soft buzz from the medical equipment nearby too loud.

“Steve, don’t let them do that to me again,” you begged, voice rising with every word. “I don’t know how to fight them now, do I? I remember fighting them but I can’t- I don’t know, I just- please Steve, just make this stop!” 

He held you bracingly close as everything around you crumbled. Anxiety crawled over your skin and pierced through you, seizing your lungs and squeezing your mind. Thoughts racing to no end you couldn’t focus, couldn’t see your own hand in front of you. Everything was too much, like you were taking in too much air and no air at all, drowning in this bed on nothing but pure searing panic. 

Steve held you, speaking right into your ear and you heard the words but you couldn’t process them. And he couldn’t hold you together.

Hydra could trigger you again now. _Hydra could trigger you._  

They could make you do whatever they wanted all over again. And now there was nothing you could do to stop it. You didn’t remember how.

Was that their plan?

“Doctor!”

“Steve please!” you screamed. “I don’t want this! I can’t do this anymore, they hurt me so much. Don’t let me hurt anyone else, please, oh god don’t let them hurt me! 

He held you down and the panic took you, body moving and struggling against an assailant that you couldn’t see, couldn’t fight. Tears streamed down your face blocking out everything around you, your only focus on the pain. You cried out desperately as though in a void alone.

“Why isn’t he here, Steve?” you sobbed into his chest, tasting blood as you shook violently, biting your tongue. “Where did he go? He just left! Please, where is he, please!”

Through your tears you didn’t see Dr. Cho walking in, needle filled with a clear liquid in hand. You didn’t feel the prick of it on your arm. But you did feel a cool numbing feeling start to slowly circulate through you.

As your mind and body slowed, every part of you grew lethargic, including the mordacious panic. Slowly, your heavy lids began to close as your heart rate began to drop down to a puttering, drowsy pace. 

You wondered, in that numbing haze, if you saw the silhouette of Bucky in the doorway watching you. 

But you couldn’t reach out, couldn’t ask before darkness overtook you.

* * *

The training room used to be an enjoyable space for you. It was your element. Or had been.

You swung your fist out again, hitting the punching bag quite off your mental target. It was sloppy, slower than you thought it should be, and didn’t quite land right. You pulled back your fist in a huff, inspecting your knuckles, looking for something there that would have thrown this off.

But it was you. 

Your muscle memory that had once ruled your body was practically gone. Your years of experience and of practice were missing now. You knew how it felt to hit the punching bag properly. You knew exactly where on it to hit, how fast you should strike, and the feel of it, your skin numb to the impact.

But this was stinging, it was awkward, and it left you frustrated in your failure.

You wouldn’t be in here hour after hour if you could help it though. At least the punching bag was a distraction, if not an annoying one.

“How about a run?” Steve said, walking in with a water bottle in hand, ready to go. He looked beat down a little and moving slower than usual, his blue shirt and grey sweats a little crumpled.

“I don’t know, I might trip over my feet,” you said darkly.

“C’mon,” he started, hand resting on the side of the punching bag. “You know this is going to take time. Have a little a grace for yourself.”

“How can I when this is fucking ridiculous?” you spat, beginning to pace around the mat. 

You had been keeping this up all afternoon. The morning you had spent combing through the Hydra files, reading through your old missions. That didn’t last long. You could barely stomach it.

“I had _reflexes_ and I had _muscle memory_ just a few days ago! Where the hell did that go? That wasn’t in my mind; that was my body. And now it feels fucking _useless_.”

Steve shook his head sighing in that patented sympathetic way of his.

“You can’t think like that Y/N," he said. "Your mind is more powerful and plays a bigger part of it than you realize. But you’ll relearn it, I promise you. We’ll train together.”

That wasn't exactly the solution you wanted though.

“You can’t teach me what I want to know.”

“What, how to kill someone?” he said almost defiantly, eyes turning a little bit harder as he had already made his stance on this clear. “No, you’re right, I _won’t_ do that.”

“Than I want to know how to fight _them,"_ you said, voice raised. _"_ You’ve fought them but you don’t _know_ them the same as I did. Hydra is coming after me, I need someone who knows how to fight them.”

“Y/N,” Steve said, dropping his voice down in understanding. “It’s only been a couple days. Give him time.”

You scowled, both wanting to talk about it and definitely _not_ wanting to talk about it. Nothing was straightforward in your life besides a deep seeded  _wanting_. A wanting for someone who was avoiding you. Who couldn't stand to be around you anymore. The intense burning pain of that and the black frigid hole in your very sense of self mingled together and kept you tight with torment.

“It was news he wasn’t prepared for," Steve explained. "It’s an adjustment. Bucky’ll come back around, just give him time.”

“He’s mad at me for not telling him,” you ventured, that heated pain flaring up in you again.

“He’s mad at _himself_ that it happened at all. He’ll get through this, and so will you. We all will.”

* * *

You were waiting, sitting perched on a bar counter in a large, completely empty room. Maybe it had been a boardroom at some point, with one whole wall nothing but clear windows with views to the city outside. Besides that and the built-in wet bar you sat on now, there was nothing in here. In fact, the whole floor was abandoned, the Team either sensing the coming storm or more likely Steve giving them a heads up. 

It was another grey day, much like the last couple. Like the one you woke up in a few days ago, beginning this new chapter with you as this… person. The same as you were, yet markedly different. 

You had yet to get used to it and doubted you ever will. You could- and would- relearn what you needed to defend yourself and others. But you couldn’t think of a way to actually get those lost memories back. Would there always be this hole in your life?

Maybe it was a good thing, forgetting so much of your years at Hydra. But however awful it was, the pain had ultimately brought you here. It made you capable of surviving anything and everything, and made you a fighter, uncompromising in your will to win. Now you were at the mercy of others.

A distinct ping sounded, echoing down the hall. As you heard the elevator doors open, your stomach dropped. You clutched your shirt over your abdomen trying for a moment to knead out the nausea.

Hearing heavy and hurried footsteps, you did your best to steady yourself and sat as upright as your emotion-wearied body could.

A quick second later you found yourself alone with Bucky in a large, vacant room.

He strode in, not looking at you as he moved, staying against the wall on the far opposite side of the room. He was stoic, standing at full height, black long sleeve shirt stretched across him too tight, face dark. But the bags under his eyes matched Steve’s.

With a pang of guilt, you understood; he wasn’t sleeping. Steve must have been trying to help as you recalled his exhausted face too, and by the looks of it unsuccessfully. 

As he turned to face you straight on, you noticed his palour was greyish and those bags under his eyes looked a blueish purple. The blue of his eyes hung low watching you, as emotionless as you had ever seen them. The hard line of his mouth confirmed his cold-blooded state. He was unfeeling, detached to as far of an extreme as he could take himself. 

He didn’t say hello, or ask how you were. He barely even seemed to see you, though he was looking right at you. You imagined he would’ve noticed your weariness too, being unable to sleep without Dr. Cho knocking you out, though that couldn’t last forever. Or how slumped your shoulders were. How hollow your face was. How you held yourself like at any moment you were going to be in pain again, constantly bracing yourself, crunched up in anxiety. But without pause to take you in or really look at you at all, you didn’t think he actually saw any of that.

If you could reach out and hold him, feel the heat of his skin and the hum of his heartbeat, you knew you would both find some amount of healing in it. You would run your fingers gently through his hair, hum some soothing lullaby and let yourselves drift off to sleep. But the hardened man in front of you wasn't the same person you had held at night.

“Tell me what happened.”

A tidal wave of cold struck you from that tone, those eyes. He wasn’t necessarily threatening and wasn’t exactly angry, just so incredibly frigid in a stoically, emotionless way. Maybe this was how the others viewed him. But you realized this dispassionate state was probably the only way he could get through this.

You wanted to say his name, but stopped yourself as the word formed in your mouth, remembering your breathy utterance of it on the balcony, then it being repeated on the intercom over and over before this all went to shit.

“I don’t r-”

“You’ve kept this from me since day one,” he said, cutting you off. “You knew me this whole time. Tell me what happened.”

You sighed. You weren’t trying to make this difficult- you had done enough of that clearly- but you were only trying to be honest.

“I was going to say that I don’t remember everything, just the beginning few years," you explained, voice hoarse. "And the last couple. Everything in between is a blank.”

You could feel the burning tears spring up in your eyes at that. You looked away from him, blinking them away as subtly as possible while you carried on. 

This wasn’t over half a century old anymore, not that it ever truly felt that way. Everything that happened felt like a few short years, trauma you might have thought at one point that you were over (which wasn’t true) but that you now don’t _remember_ actually getting over. It was still a gaping hole in your side, bruised and jagged and bleeding. It took your breath away every second of the day.

“I was young," you robotically began. "It was the 50’s. And you took me.” 

It really had been that simple. Nothing you could have done to stop him, nothing he could have done to stop himself. Though you both had tried at the time.

“Why did I take you,” he said, dead eyes pushing you as far back in the room as they could, holding you there.

Both your voices echo in the expansive yet somehow stifling space between you. He said his words like he had been practicing how this was going to go, to stay focused and leave just as fast as he came. To get as far away from you.

“I didn’t know at the time,” you said quietly, looking back up to him. “I genuinely think you were after someone else though. I was just… _there_ , I guess.”

The only give away that he was feeling anything was the slightly quickened pace of his chest rising and falling. If not for that you would have thought him a statue.

“Why did I do it at all.”

It was a reasonable question. You had been a normal girl back then: young, naive, maybe a little confrontational but certainly not anything close to the Siren material they made you into. Why on earth would he have picked you?

“Bucky, you have to understand… I know you were a sniper in the war and were on an elite team but…” you sighed. 

All this would break his heart and there was nothing you could do about it. He knew now and wouldn’t let you hide the rest of it anymore.

“Hydra wasn’t just going to just send you out to assassinate presidents or topple governments from day one. They had to start you off on low risk, basic missions to test your ability to comply. To put you in familiar territory and know that you would complete your task. To know that no matter what, their brainwashing would work. It was just a test. I was just a test. I wasn’t the first or the last of the people you captured before they… “graduated” you to Winter Solider.”

He paused just for a moment, though you didn’t when you answered: “What did I do to you.”

“Does it matter?” you breathed, trying one time to give him an out. 

He didn’t have to go through the pain of this. You had lived through it and was tortured by the memories of it; wasn’t that enough for you both?

But he had to know, had to use this to punish himself. He could feel terribly worthless and hate himself for killing people in his past. But this was _you_ and you were not a ghost and you were not a stranger. This was far more personal, hit far deeper.

“What did I do to you,” That sounded almost more like a threat, coming low and intense.

You took a moment, looking down in defeat and almost embarrassment. This was so uncomfortable for you, which maybe he realized that and maybe he didn’t, but bringing this up made you relive it all over again. You didn’t have the buffer of time to distance yourself from it anymore.

“That first day, you took me to Vier Gliedmaßen,” you confessed. “You put me in a cell. I was “processed”, as they called it. Once that was over you stayed until they told you to leave me alone.”

That was bare bones and you both knew it. You didn’t mention the screaming, the excruciating pain, the unending terror as you were pulled away from your family, your life and dumped without reason into hell itself. The worst nightmare you could think of at the time was what Bucky had done: kidnap and lock you up. Until Hydra showed you how much more terror there was to fear in the world.

“What did I do to you,” You wondered if he was going to close the gap, his body tensed up as he repeated the demanding question over and over, but you wouldn’t play this game. You wouldn’t add to his torment.

“No,” you said shaking your head. “You didn’t do _anything_ , Bucky. _You_ didn’t. They did.”

“Tell me what I did to you,” he said again, louder.

This was your fear realized. This was exactly what you knew would come if he found out.

“ _You_ cried for me. _You_ hesitated for me. _You_ tried with everything in you to stop. _You_ railed against their brainwashing. You did that. All the other soldiers that came in through the years did that too. They were not the ones hurting me, Bucky. I realized that quickly. It wasn’t _you_ hurting me Bucky. You never lifted a finger against me.”

“Stop making excuses," he said forcefully, deep blue eyes still dead. "What did I do to you.”

“ _Hydra_ took me from my life,” you started, voice rising. You hopped off the counter and started closing the distance between you, his stare making it feel like wading through icy water. “ _Hydra_ sliced me open. _Hydra_ beat me. _Hydra_ experimented on me and violated me and ripped me open and made me comply.  _Hydra_ did that.”

When you reached him, you stared up at him for a moment. Oh god, you wanted to see the kind face of Bucky when he reminisced, when you sat together drinking tea in the kitchen, when you climbed into bed together at night. Not the hardened face of a man in too much agony to show it.

You reached up to put your hands on either side of his face but he flinched back, recoiling at your touch. You pulled away and stepped back, burning eyes looking up to the ceiling. You remember how so sweetly in his sleep he said that you were the only one he wanted touching him, the only one he could imagine touching him. Now he recoiled from you. 

This was so fucking complicated. And it was either cry or get angry, so you decided to get angry.

“I’m _not_ a victim, Bucky!” you half yelled. “I’m a fucking survivor! I survived them and everything they did to me! You didn’t hurt me because you wanted too, because of your own free will that was what _you_ actually wanted! You did it because they _forced_ you. They forced _you_ , just like they forced _me_ to endure it.”

“That isn’t true, just stop.” 

“No, because I know you don’t get it! I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell you before. And yes, I probably should have, but for fuck's sake Bucky, haven’t we gone through _enough_?”

“You’re wrong!” he was louder now, voice slightly manic for just a moment, matching your volume.

“Maybe you were the first, but you weren’t the _only_ soldier they sent in Bucky,” you continued, unrelenting. “I was made by them to be violent and they hopped me up on whatever drugs they could give me to last longer, move faster, torture more insanely. They had their tricks but sometimes I was just too hard to handle. I wasn’t like you, cold and calculating. They wanted me more unhinged, to cause deeper pain to people. So when I failed a mission? Or when I hesitated? They would send a soldier in. And the soldiers that beat me? That tore the skin off of me? That snapped my spine? That…”

You couldn’t finish, putting your palms up to your eyes, trying to force the tears back. The pain was so fresh to you your whole body stung. You took in a shaky breath before you could continue, looking through bloodshot, tear-soaked eyes to him.

“I didn’t blame a _single_ one. Not anyone of them, and not _you_!” Blood pooled in your hands as you nails dug into your skin in your closed fist. “They didn’t have a choice, they couldn’t fight it! Hydra took them too. They tortured them. They made them do horrible things. Hydra is to blame for _all_ of this. Not you.”

“You didn’t tell me any of this. Why,” he said, voice low again, deliberately now trying not to match the heat of your outburst in his icy exterior.

“Because of _exactly_ what you’re feeling now and trying not to show, damn it!”

He stood unmoving, dark features glued to yours. You were a mess and he was a stone statue.

“You’re in _pain_ , Bucky," you said, softer but just as emotion-ridden. "You’ve gone through enough of that. So have I. I didn’t want this for either of us.”

He narrowed his eyes and you almost shivered at the cold he threw at you with them. “That isn’t true and you know it.”

“You think I _wanted_ this?" you spat. "I wanted Hydra to come barreling back into my life, not on my terms but theirs? That I wanted to be threatened, half killed, tortured, mind fucked, and end up with you finding out like _this_?”

“You love the fight, Y/N. You run to it, you fucking _crave_ it,” he snapped, the bark cutting through you.

“What the hell is that suppose to mean? Why does that even matter?" you snapped back. "I was _programmed_ to fight; I’ve been fighting for decades. If there is an enemy, I go after it before they go after me. We talked about that after The Black first arrived.”

“You love the carnage and the pain—“

“The fuck I d—“

“And _that’s_ why you have feelings for me.” 

His words silenced everything in you and you both stood there, him with fists now clenched and lip almost curled in anger, while you dropped your anger in shock. 

How could he possibly think _that_ of all things? That couldn’t be true.

“You wanted to relive the fight,” he continued darkly. “Then prove you can rise above it. So you can defy them all over and over again. Defiance; that what this is about. They used me to… to _hurt_ you, and you want to be with me as a flip off to them. _That's_ all it is.”

“Bucky,” your voice was much lower and softer than before, because holy _shit_ this was going off the fucking rails.

“That’s not true," you said, quietly punching out ever word. "Let me be clear here, okay? You’re right. I _do_ have feelings for you. Deeper than I’ve had for anyone.”

Saying that to a man that was standing there, watching you with icy and unfeeling eyes was almost unbearable. It was like the words snapped back and struck you. You tried to hold your body up but at the pain of the lashing words you felt yourself twist with the sting of them.

“But I _don’t_ want to be with you because of Hydra. It’s very much in _spite_ of Hydra that I feel how I do. How fucking twisted would that be? I’m not like that. You have to be able to see that it just isn’t like that.”

His face scrunched up and for the first time you saw a flash of agonizing heartbreak behind that mask.

“Then why the fuck do feel for me, Y/N? Why wouldn’t you want to kill me or hate me or tear me apart? I _did_ this to you. Your whole life with them. That was because of _me_.”

You brought your hands up to your neck, eyes closed for a moment. You felt your pulse racing under your palms. You didn’t want to have this conversation, you never had wanted too. Your body and mind and soul couldn’t handle it. How now could you even put this into words he'd understand?

“I have emotions, Bucky, and I can’t always explain why I feel what I do. I didn’t have the best role models at Hydra and years of torture tend to warp people, alright? I think and I feel and it can be sick and illogical but it’s honest, Bucky. I can’t just turn it off. I know it’s… _twisted_ maybe to feel for you like I do, but it’s… it’s real.”

You felt the next words in your throat coming up like vomit in your mouth, and you couldn’t stop them. They didn’t spill out violently but hushed in the space between you.

“Maybe you hate yourself or don’t feel worthy or feel damaged. Or maybe you just hate me for all this. But I… but I _love_ you, Bucky. And I don’t care, you can push me away however far you want. Maybe I’m too tainted by Hydra now, and you’ll only ever see me as your victim. But fuck that because I’m _not_ that person, _you’re_ not terrible, and I _won’t_ stop feeling this way.”

“Stop, just stop this,” His voice was hushed too, cold mask cracking with the heartache bubbling up from underneath it.

“Maybe you don’t want to hear this now, but you are _worthy_ , you are _loved_ , and you are _not what they did to you_ ,” you said, voice turning more resolute as you spoke, almost shaking with this truth. “I’ll keep telling you that over and over until you really hear it. Until you know it and feel it. I know that it’s not going to be today, but one day that will finally sink in. And even then I won’t stop saying it. So hate yourself and hate _me_ all you want. It’s the goddamn truth.“

* * *

The fireplace flickered and hummed beside you as you sat curled up in the farthest corner of the room. Windows surrounded you, shedding bright light on the book you had been unable to read a single word from, even though you had been trying for over an hour. 

You were impossibly cold yet you didn’t wrap yourself up in the plush blankets nearby, choosing instead to remain uncomfortable. You couldn’t nod off, your dreams coming on in too much horrific detail before even F.R.I.D.A.Y could wake you up. 

Dr. Cho had been shooting you up with something to knock you out at night, but you couldn’t sustain it, the drug basically put you in a coma that would be enough to kill an average person. Maybe your drug tolerance was impossibly high due to Hydra’s experimentation but this was a short-term solution to what you knew to be a long-term problem.

You didn’t remember how you dealt with it after escaping Hydra and before you met the Team, so you were on your own in trying to figure out a way to cope. You remembered the pleading of Bucky when he first asked you for help to sleep.

Bitterly, you knew asking him for help wasn’t an option.

Basically, you looked like a ghost and felt dead too. But that feeling was more so because of your conversation- your entire complicated life- with Bucky than sleep at the moment.

“Incoming message from Steve, Y/N.,” said F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s smooth voice.

“Please,” you said, desperate for a distraction.

“Hey, whereabouts are you?”

“The lounge, why?” Despite how it made your stomach roll walking in here, this was the only spot without a soul around.

“Just checking in, be there in a second.”

Bless him, poor Steve. He was on Bucky duty and now Y/N duty. 

The others had generally given you space besides a kind word or pleasant small talk, thinking you would want some time to work through this. It was true, but you also intensely felt alone. Not so much _lonely_ , but more like the foundation-crushing, soul-shattering alone feeling, like you were bound to a life of isolation now. It was dramatic but so true you felt it in your soul and your body ached with it. 

Nothing the others did or said could fix or change this feeling in you. Honestly, you only wanted one person through this and he could barely stand to be near you.

Steve did provide a little relief though, and you welcomed your interactions with him, even if the brief feeling of companionship fleeted just moments after seeing him.

He walked in, blue shirt lighting up his bright eyes and bringing out his perfect shade of blonde. It also accentuated the purple puffs under his eyes and bruises on his arms. He obviously wasn’t sleeping well either being on nightmare duty with Bucky.

“How does the other guy look?” you said as he walked over to you, sitting on the arm of the chair just beside you.

“I haven’t seen him today yet," he admitted, exhaustion in his voice. "He’s not really taking any visitors at the moment.”

“Never thought you would be called that in his books.”

“Me either,” he sighed before switching gears. “You okay?”

“Not any better than you are probably feeling.” He gave a small smile at that.

“How did it go?” He scooted off the arm and sat back in the chair, grey city buildings as his backdrop.

You swallowed, shaking your head and looking away from him into the orange flames of the fireplace. 

“It was awful. Exhausting. Weird,” you said, speaking truth to your oldest friend. “He was so bitterly cold? He’s never been that way with me, even when I broke into his apartment before he came on the Team.”

“He’s angry, Y/N,” Steve explained softly. "It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. Hydra did a number on him.” 

“Yeah,” You quirked an eyebrow. “But it’s not just Hydra now is it. He’s angry at me too.”

“I don’t think so Y/N,” he said giving you a pointed look. “You didn’t choose this either. He knows that.”

“I didn’t say I did, but that doesn’t make it different or change the fact I kept this from him,” you sighed, before wrapping your arms around yourself and looking back to the flames. “I just miss him.”

You spoke that last part so quietly, you wondered if maybe Steve didn’t hear it. But in the silence, he put a hand on your arm. You brought your own hand up and held onto his.

That super soldier heat was lost on you as despite holding onto him, you still felt so desperately alone.

* * *

“What did you say to him?” This time his entrance was a lot less calm. 

Nat looked up from her bowl of popcorn at the kitchen island, but Steve only took notice of you, who was in the middle of making a bowl of cereal.

“I, uh,” you said, taken a little off guard. The sun was going down and you were too tired to hold much of a conversation at this hour on so little sleep. “Earlier, with him? The basics. Nothing in too much detail.”

Nat hadn’t pried but you knew that she must know you and Bucky had it out earlier. Though you weren’t looking to have this conversation in front of anyone really, friend or no.

“I’ll just uh…” she said, grabbing the bowl and slipping out with a raised eyebrow to you. Again, Steve didn’t acknowledge her, standing in front of you with a carton of milk in your hand.

“Y/N, what did you say?” he repeated firmly.

You opened your mouth to respond, hand gesture splashing milk inside its carton. Before you could string a few words together, you really looked at him. He looked exhausted, even more so than before, looking suddenly like several of those seventy years on ice had caught up with him.

“Just that it wasn’t him who did all of that to me,” you started. “That _he_ didn’t hurt me, they did. Steve, what’s wrong?”

“He’s… he’s in a bad spot, Y/N,” Steve huffed, hard expression a mix of concern.

“Well, I don’t know, I—”

“There has to be something else,” he said, eyes searching yours. “He talked to me somewhat before you two did… He could imagine what he did to you Y/N, that’s no stretch to him. But I finally was able to convince him to talk to me tonight and…”

He faded off in another deep huff. What had Bucky said?

Oh god, what were you going to say…

“Okay,” you said awkwardly, words uneven and anxious, squeezing the carton nervously in your hand. The bright white kitchen suddenly was too bright and your face scrunched up a little as you squinted. “I said more than just about what Hydra did through him. I also may… Well, I kinda mentioned... Okay, shit… I have feelings for him, and I uh kinda let him know that.”

Steve’s face pulled into perplexity, then something clicked in those eyes of his and he shook his head, mouth forming a tight line and hands gripping his hips tightly.

“I’m trying to make it better, Steve,” you began quickly before he spoke. “I didn’t say all that because I wanted to make this worse. What’s happening?”

He looked down, nodding his head. What was happening to Bucky? What had those words caused him to do?

“Steve, what happened?” you tilted your head, trying to get him to look at you.

“Maybe just stay away from him for now,” Steve said eventually, pulling back with almost a disapproving shake of his head. If that for you, himself, or because of Bucky, you didn't know. He didn't give you a chance to ask, leaving the kitchen quickly.

Though you thought your heart was filled with beyond its capacity to feel, you suddenly felt like his words had stabbed you directly in the chest. 

It looks like it didn’t matter what you say or didn’t say, did or didn’t do, you would clearly fuck everything up either way.

* * *

The scream that echoed down through the Tower and into your room brought you back to your first night in Bucky’s bed.

That was the memory that clung to you when you ripped off your duvet and began running doing the hall to his room.

The bare soles of your feet hitting the floor sounded with the crashes of glass shattering and deep yelling boom out as you got to his bedroom door.

When you reached it, you practically slammed your body into it. It was locked.

You called out to F.R.I.D.A.Y. who would not let you in, citing access was restricted. You tried to override the door, but Bucky had altered the security settings, keeping _you_ specifically out.

“Bucky!” you yelled, pounding the door insistently with a close fist. “What’s wrong? Wake up!”

A choked grunt sounded with another distinct yell at the same time, and you knew someone else was already in there.

“Steve! Steve, let me in now!” There clearly was a fight happening, and if it was night terror Bucky (the Solider) you needed to get in there now.

Your experience with Bucky had once made you better than anyone to spar with him, much to Bucky’s confusion at the time. Without his shield Steve couldn’t win against him, Bucky having a lot more deadly fighting experience while Steve was on ice. But you had fought against him for years. Eventually learning his moves and predicting them. When he sparred with you, you were still always level footed with him, metal arm or no.

But there was no guarantee that you’d be able to even dodge one punch from him now. 

The door clicked suddenly with a choked voice from inside, F.R.I.D.A.Y. unlocking it. Without hesitating you entered the dark room in haste. Right away you saw Steve in a headlock practically blue under Bucky’s metal prosthetic arm.

“Bucky, stop! _Soldat_!” you shouted into the near pitch black room. 

He turned to you, eyes dead and expression deadly, and dropped the half-unconscious Steve at his feet. 

Quickly his focus was on you, and he came at you with a grunt. Immediately you dropped down to dodge him, but he was faster than you and reached down to grab your shoulder, throwing you back clean over Steve.

You hit his bookcase hard, books, records, and pictures slamming down on the floor same as you. They cracked and splintered, spraying you with little shards and pellets.

You were on your knees, briefly dazed, before he grabbed your arm roughly. Bucky pulled it backwards, forcing you down with your back to the ground with a slam. The air exited your lungs violently as his knees found their way to your thighs, pinning you down and open with painful force. The way he dominated you was hard and unrelenting, not giving you an inch of space to move as his body covered your vulnerable frame.

He grabbed your wrists and held it down by your head with one of his hands, just as you lungs began to work again. 

Your gasp was cut short as his free hand lock it’s fingers onto your jaw, holding you still as his lips hit yours, hard and painful.

Last time this happened you brought your legs up to his neck in a leg lock and flipped him over. You had taken him down in seconds with precision and speed, even after exhaustion had cut you to the quick. You hadn’t slept in days and yet you still were force enough to incapacitate him.

But this time, you weren’t that person.

You couldn’t fight his hand crushing your wrist. You couldn’t so much as squirm under him with hips pinning you to the floor painfully. You couldn’t kick out with his knees digging into you. You couldn’t push him away or punch him or fight him with your hands bound by his. You couldn’t turn away with his grip hard on your jaw, sealing himself to you with a harsh inescapable kiss.

So caught under him, you let it happen. You let him kiss you, the rough pressure of lips and teeth and tongue forcing down on you and penetrating you.

You hated that this was the version of Bucky that would touch you, that this was the one that wanted you, and you not only couldn’t resist it or him, but you didn’t want too.

So you kissed him back.

You met fire with fire, responding to the pressure of his lips, bite of his teeth, and wet demands of his tongue with your own. You moved and responded back until it wasn’t a fight for dominance but melted into a kind of harmony.

The painful, angry force slowly turned to something softer, something deeper.

As it turned soft, his hand began releasing its crushing grip, body melt into yours rather than forcing it down. It went from an abrasive assault on your mouth to something delicately wet and warm.

You could feel his heart rate slow as his chest was pressed to yours. Feel bruising fingertips turned soft and caressing across your skin. 

And when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t the Soldier, but _him_ again.

Looking down to you with warm blue eyes he watched you for a moment.

A shadow of an eased smile almost pulled at the corners of his wet lips, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, and the fan of slow blinking lashes hiding softly contented eyes.

That look brought you feelings of cool air surrounding you, dark night sky above you, and his warm body pressed against you. The memory of you and he together on the balcony replacing that first nightmarish kiss.

But that look began to dissipate, melting away drop by drop from him as you could do nothing but watch. It was replaced by the pain and coldness of earlier that day as cruel reality settled back in. It hardened those eyes, clenched his jaw, and lined his face with torment.

He lifted himself off of you and pulled away fast, shooting up like a bolt. Stumbling away from your bruised and pained body on the floor, Bucky blinked rapidly as horror and surprise set in. He looked around, getting his bearings in the confusing dark room.

He spotted Steve watching him, face bewildered and pained as he rubbed his neck and struggled to stand, having just about been knocked right out moments earlier. 

Bucky’s eyes were a sea of confusion and regret and terror, and quickly he pushed past Steve, overwhelmed. He took off running down the hall away from you both.

You sat up, groaning quietly in pain as you willed your limbs to work. Leaning back against the bookcase, your pressed your hands over your face, overwhelmed too.

Time ticked by and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Moving meant facing this, and you just didn’t have the will to do so.

So there you sat, on the ground surrounded by splayed open books and broken records. 

“Can we go back to the beginning, Steve?” you said, voice coming out like a sob. You hadn’t noticed the tears spilling through your hands as you dropped them, looking over to your friend. “Can we just start this over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves, hope you enjoyed the angst here! The next chapter will be you first meeting Bucky back in the 50’s and I should have it up soon. Let me know what you think of the story so far!


	14. Back to the Night We Met

**_Previously_ **

_Time ticked by and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Moving meant facing this, and you just didn’t have the will to do so._

_So there you sat, on the ground surrounded by splayed open books and broken records._

_“Can we go back to the beginning, Steve?” you said, voice coming out like a sob. You hadn’t noticed the tears spilling through your hands as you dropped them, looking over to your friend. “Can we just start this over?”_

* * *

The night was cool, but the heated sea of people gave the illusion of a warm summer evening. It pushed away the chill of autumn that was settling in deeper night after night.

The crowd was filled with boys in lettermen jackets, girls in pastel poodle skirts, and lovebirds on a night out. Brightly coloured twinkle lights from the booths and rides warmly illuminated this dark edge of town, songs and laughter echoing out through this little town’s streets. The kids screaming in delight on the Ferris wheels and carousals melted into the happy chattering babble of the people. Every other person had a handful of cracker jacks or cotton candy, some balancing their treats precariously as they tried for a third or fifth time to win that prize to impress their sweetheart.

You loved this. The fun, the crowd, the energy. It was a buzzing and chaotic energy in the best way. Nothing could pull you away from a night like this.

“C’mon, I _know_ I can win it!” said Mary-Anne, determined to head back to the booth you had been at an hour ago.

“If you could have, you would have!” you countered again, smiling at your blonde friend as the pair of your wove idly through the crowds.

She stopped in her tracks and immediately plumped out her bottom lip with a rather doe-eyed pout. Something that worked wonders on the general populace (and _certainly_ the boys) but not especially you.

“You know,” you pointed out, stopping with a hand on your hip, the sway of your skirt brushing the passersby. “You could probably just get one of the boys to spend half _their_ money trying to win that stupid thing, and not yours _or_ mine.”

Her light blue eyes lit up brighter than the “Guess Your Weight!” sign that gleamed behind her.

“ _Great_ idea!” she said while yanking your hand.

She set off with a determined gait, elbowing through the crowd towards the game, you both just a swish of flowy skirts through the flock of people.

It was a basic ring toss game, one you remembered loving when you were a child. Mary-Anne erred more on the childish side (and definitely when advantageous to do so) so you weren’t really surprised she was drawn to this one over and over.

After weaving and pushing through about a hundred people, you arrived at the red and white striped booth in question. Mary-Anne turned her back to it and bit her lip, searching with predator eyes for her poor victim before zeroing in on one suited to her goal.

A group of boys in blue and yellow school jackets with slick haircuts weren’t far, leaning against the side of a pastel pink cotton candy stand. She turned to you with a big smile on her face and gave you a cheeky wink.

“You have your fun, I’m going to see if _I_ can find any alone,” you said, trying to guilt her only a little. “And a least say thank you after he wins it and _before_ you ignore him forever!”

She just shrugged as her hips swung her pink skirt dramatically, hands behind her back and she saddled up beside poor Charlie Chester. With a few demure words from her and bats of those big eyelashes, he was bound to give in to her request. No doubt that before the night was over all his money would be spent on a little rose-coloured satin bear.

You took a few steps back, watching your friend with a smile. Maybe you didn’t seem on the outside like you two should be friends, but it was a bond you knew would never be broken. 

She was _impossibly_ spoiled, living like a princess in the most immaculate house in town, childlike in demeanour but with quite the venomous bite if needed. Sly, coy, and outwardly a perfect girly citizen. 

You, on the other hand, were rougher around the edges and a lot more unpolished, jumping into any situation head first, stubborn all the time, apathetic some of the time, and heartless occasionally. Not to those closest to you, but that really was just Mary-Anne anyways.

You first met on the second day of grade school. You kicked a boy who had stolen something from you and she convinced him not to tell on you. And that was it. You had been best friends since.

Stepping back with a broad smile on your face, you turned, your mind wondering what ride you might try next. Immediately something hit you hard in the face, sending you careening backwards on your butt, hitting the ground with a painful thump.

In an instant you scrabbled up, fuming at the idiot who had knocked into you.

Right away you saw the culprit- Brent- a blonde hair, brick house of a brute, standing more than a foot taller than you (or anyone else). Size or strength pushed aside, you still wouldn’t back down from pummelling this jerk.

Not bothering to dust yourself off, you strode up determinedly toward him, still turned around talking to some poor red-headed chump, gesturing with his ham-like hands. By the sting in your cheek you figured it was an elbow that caught your face painfully. You had already decided that you would repay the favour in full, and pushed your cardigan sleeves up, ready to start swinging.

“Hey, listen you little—” 

But you didn’t get the words out before an arm roughly grabbed the back of Brent’s collar and jerked back terribly hard.

“Hey!” Brent yelped, voice coming out so high pitched you cracked the biggest smile of the night. 

But however much you would like to hear _that_ again, this was your fight.

“Woah, woah, woah!” you insisted, grabbing the hand of the man before seeing who it was you were dealing with. “No need to defend my honour, I promise, I ca—”

You cut yourself off this time, taking in the man who had intervened on your behalf.

Standing beside you in the cool air and warm glow of the night was the dreamiest man you had laid eyes on. Silky chestnut hair, muscles about to burst out of his grey mechanics suit, cut jaw with just the smallest bit of stumble. The energy rolling off of him was dark and intense in a way sent a chill shuddering across your skin. But it was his eyes that stopped you dead. The deepest brightest blue you had ever seen, looking to Brent, not you, with the most intense threatening look. It rivaled even yours.

“Let me go you or you’ll be in a _world_ of pain!” Brent sputtered angrily, trying with jerking twists to turn around.

With a loud rip of his collar, he was face to face with the man you thought was trying to protect you.

But the moment he saw the look in the man’s icy eyes, his face dropped almost comically. Wordlessly he didn't so much as pretend to hide his cowardice, slinking away faster than you thought someone of his size could do. His face was priceless but you had missed it completely, watching instead this mysterious stranger who had appeared almost completely out of thin air.

“I uh, I promise, he didn’t hurt me…?” you said with a polite lilt to your voice, waiting for him to fill in his name. He didn’t, just stood there, looking down to something. Even then you could tell his eyes had softened, icy glare starting to melt away before your eyes.

“I’m Y/N…” you continued, tilting your head down to try and catch his eyes. “And I really didn’t need you to intervene- I can take on Brent Cummings any day of the week- but it was nice that you tried... And you are?”

But your eyes followed his eyes down to your hand, still holding tightly onto his hand.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” you said, snapping your hand back with a slight heat on your cheeks. He looked to the space where your hands had been touching, his fingers rubbing together slightly before dropping them back to his side. His head only slowly came back to see you, blue stare connecting with yours.

Somehow while you were with him the sound of the crowd had faded, the lights dimmed, and you saw nothing but the man before you. The pleasant heat of the crowd turned hot in a moment as his soften gaze pierced through you.

“Thanks again," you said softly, crossing your arms and swinging your skirt a little. "I wasn’t sure anyone saw him knock me down. But they definitely would have seen me _punching_ him for being so clumsy.”

You stood there together for a moment, you looking away from that stare, eyes too intense for you to hold it. He was either entranced by you or wanted to murder you for getting in his way of a fight. You really couldn’t tell. Either way (and for better or worse) the look made a heat rise in you.

Someone bumped you roughly again, this time from behind (really though it probably was your fault now for standing in the centre of the dirt walkway for so long without moving). Knocking your balance off kilter with the sudden jolt, you fell towards the stranger, hand stopping yourself against the broad expanse of his chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” you said for the second time in under a minute, pressed up against him with his eyes slightly wider in surprise and somehow even more ocean blue. But even after your hurried apology you didn’t move back just yet, holding your breath for some reason and voice coming quietly. “I still don’t know your name though?”

You almost rolled your eyes at your stupidity as soon as you had asked though. He was wearing a dark grey one-piece suit, a mechanics outfit. He must have just come from work, though he couldn’t be that much older than you, just out of college probably? Or maybe an apprenticeship, considering the outfit. Embroidered in it carefully on a bright white patch was the name “Jesse” in red thread.

You looked up to him with a broad smile, his face just inches from yours, hand on your hip reflexively to steady you from the fall into him. The heat pooled on your cheeks again, and this time you enjoyed the pleasant warmth. “I guess I didn’t see that, Jesse.”

You moved your hand over the patch, still pressed up way to close to a strange man in the middle of this carnival. You never backed down from a challenge, and this man was _definitely_ something you wanted to conquer. You tried to think of what Mary-Anne would say, and your mind sparked with an idea.

“Can I repay you for the gesture? How about a game? Maybe the ring one? My treat.”

You pulled back and stood with your hands on your hip. But for some reason, his eyes turned from a soft look- kinda like a deer in the headlights- back to a more steely cold look. 

Hmm, you must have messed that up somehow. Mary-Anne would’ve done better no doubt. You looked the man up and down, sizing him up. 

“Or maybe you’re a pellet gun kinda person," you mused outloud. "Here, maybe let’s try that.”

You reached for his hand, offering to pull the two of you through the crowd in the direction of the booth in question. You walked a step or two before being jerked back a little by the weight that was an unmoving Jesse.

You looked back, eyes wondering, only to find that soft look back in his gaze as he looked down to your hand holding his. You wanted to let go of his hand, figuring impossibly that that heat which sprung up in your again would burn his, giving you away. But you didn’t, only smiled smally and genuine.

“C’mon Jesse. March,” you said pleasantly. “It’s the least I can do.”

He seemed to take a small breath, almost like it was the first after coming up from underwater. His eyes turned to have a clarity and hesitation in them, but eventually he gave you a nod and began to move with you

_There. Good._

You weaved through the crowd, dodging people and balloons and large stuffed toys. The mix of laughter and exciting energy all around you made a smile stick to your face. This was a _perfect_ night to meet a guy like Jesse, and you were ecstatic to have some fun with this mystery man.

As you walked it passed the ring booth, you saw Mary-Anne in the middle of (easily) convincing Charlie to play another round. She caught your eye mid-sentence and let out the biggest, proudest grin. You smiled back to her, trying not to giggle as she watched you and this tall, dark, and handsome guy in tow.

The pellet gun booth wasn’t too far away and was nicely on the edge of the festivities so it was a little nicer to maybe to turn this stranger into a friend (at the _least_ ). You thought you knew most people in town by now so you were happy to spend some time with him all by yourself.

“I always liked this one more,” you said, pulling right up to the edge of the blue booth and putting up two fingers with a smile to the old mustached vendor. “I'm better at aiming guns than rings or throwing coins into fish bowls.” 

You still held on to his hand without realizing, as you reached into your skirt pocket and gave the vendor some change. “Are you planning on finishing your work tonight?” 

“What?” Jesse asked, sounding taken back. 

You turned around quickly to him, his voice making you mentally stumble. It was deep and growly and swear it made you see stars, apart from the ones painted on the booth walls. It took a second but you raised up his hand wrapped in yours.

“This one’s covered, but that one still has your glove on?” you said, pointing to his left hand. “Just wondered if you were heading back to work, or maybe you work with the fair?”

“I don’t think so,” There was a little bit of conflict there, and you tilted your head, trying to figure it out. You hoped it was because he was enjoying time with you.

He swallowed, leaning back and looked like he was about to turn away. But before he could scoot back to work, you passed the pellet gun from the vendor to him, letting go of his hand.

“Let’s see who shoots better huh?” You stood with a smile in front of the red and blue painted targets some several feet away inside the booth. “I _may_ have chosen this because I am quite good at it, so you’ve been warned if I kick your butt.”

Mary-Anne would have said something sweet, downplaying her skills and boosting up her counterparts male ego, but that just wasn’t you. You didn’t come from the nicest part of town and it always was a thrill to show up anyone who thought little of you. People called you defiant but that wasn’t quite true. Not if you just _happened_ to be better and go farther than anyone else was willing to. Usually through sheer will, but regardless.

Five little pings rang out from your pellet gun in quick succession, four of them hitting the target and knocking them down. You lowered your rifle quickly and beamed, trying to not to seem so excited to Jesse beside you. You couldn't help but have that beaming smile turn into something a little more mischevious and smug as you looked to your partner. He probably wasn't expecting that, and you couldn't help but love winning. You doubted he (or anyone here) could do better.

He had taken a few steps back, but it was his turn, and at an encouraging yank of his hand and nod from you, he stepped forward. He didn’t congratulate you, you figuring he was nervous to come up short compared to your stellar turn. 

Jesse took only a moment after the vendor had set the target back up. There was hardly time for a breath after the vendor stepped to the side before five shots rung out, sounding almost like they all shot out at once. Completely stunned, you saw that each little pellet hit its red painted target absolutely dead centre. It was both blindingly fast and impossibly perfect.

“Okay… uh, wow,” you breathed after standing in that stunned silence for a few moments. Your face turned from shocked back to beaming, even bigger than you had after your turn.

“You’re the first to get all five shot of the night son!” The vendor came up to congratulate him, mustache curled up with a practiced smile. “You get this for your little lady.”

The old man proudly passed Jesse a medium-sized stuffed animal, some kind of orange and green striped cat. He took the guns back and with a polite nod to you, went to speak with another couple that had walked up at the end of his counter.

With his brows pulled down in confusion, Jesse quickly passed you the stuffed animal, seeming a little puzzled at how this whole thing worked.

“That was fantastic!” you said as the daze of that impossible turn fell away. You threw the stuffed animal down on the booth counter in front of you and put your hands up to Jesse’s face, feeling that delicious stubble under your palms. For some reason you were unbelievably proud. “I haven’t seen _anyone_ do that before!” 

Again, in a moment those soft eyes melt through that cold steel mask, and you thought your knees were melting with them. He looked down at you so softly and so closely and so _rapturously_ you thought you must be the only person he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I... need to wake up,” he said in response. You pulled away with a chuckle, standing still close to him.

“You seem pretty awake to me, soldier,” you laughed. He looked at you, with something you thought was shock, face shifting back to the harder look again.

That clicked something into the puzzle that was Jesse, understanding maybe just a little of his reaction. The war hadn’t been that long ago- just a few short years really- and you figured with an aim like that that he must’ve been a marksman or something. He would’ve been quite young at the time, but that hadn’t been exactly unusual.

“With such good aim," you continued gently. "I figured you were more a soldier than pilot, there.” 

Most people didn’t want to talk about it and you knew that well enough by now. But you worried at how you could get him talking, so you took a crack at it with as comforting a voice as you could. 

“Want to tell me about it?” They were gentle words, as gentle as you could make them. "About your time in the war?"

“I… I can’t,” he swallowed stiffly, those blue eyes going out of focus for a moment.

“That’s okay,” you smiled, keeping close to him. “Most can’t. But you must have been such a credit to our country, Jesse. And at any rate, I’m glad it led you here, with me.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he said, that unfocused look suddenly becoming uncomfortable.

His eyes shifted back and forth with his weight, like he was being pulled away with the tide, and he drifted a step or two back from you.

“Oh,” your face fell drastically, suddenly a wallop of emotion hitting you as you understood. “You must've come with someone else than. I see.”

“I’m supposed to pick someone up,” he said, the words sounding a bit strangled. That sparked a little it of hope you. Maybe he wanted to be here with you after all? Maybe that was the conflict you had seen in him tonight?

“Couldn’t you stay a bit longer?” you asked, ringing your hands a little, clasped in front of you.

Mary-Anne would’ve been very disappointed with you if you let him just walk away without even a kiss. A gallant, dark and handsome stranger defending you? She would be all over that for sure.

And frankly the idea of him leaving made your stomach drop. Maybe he was a man of few words, but you genuinely liked that over the usual guys that chatted you up (as long as Mary-Anne wasn’t there to steal their attention away for herself). He seemed quiet, honest, and with a confidence or something else of equal intensity under-wraps that you couldn’t quite place.

You found people easy to read generally, able to understand their ticks and traits, strengths and weakness pretty quickly. It had been a necessity with the quality of characters you grew up around in your run-down part of this town. If you weren't able to figure out who was good or bad, trustworthy or seedy, you would have been in a world of trouble long before now.

But he was not easy to read. There was a distance there, but almost a longing closeness too? And those looks he gave you, soft one moment and hard the next were odd. He seemed both to want to be with you and near you, but was always a step away from leaving too. It was like you were dealing with two different people and yet there was only one of him.

You couldn't figure him out just yet, but you promised yourself you would. And very little could stop you once your mind was made up.

You reached your hand out again, gently grabbing his. Again, somehow at your touch the guarded man crumbled a little, leaving the sweetest expression of… relief? surprise? longing?

“I need to wake up,” he said, eyes staying on your intertwined hands.

You had dismissed that earlier but furrowed your brow slightly now, thinking maybe he needed a soda or something. He had probably worked a long shift and needed a bit of caffeine. You took another stab at what Mary-Anne would’ve done and decided to go for it.

“I could maybe liven you up a bit?" you said a little more timidly than you intended. You swallowed, bucking up. "I mean, you _did_ try and take on Brent for me.”

Taking a quiet deep breath and with a steady put-on confidence, you pulled him away from the booth, walking several feet to the edge of the carnival and away from the din and clamour of the crowd. 

Once there you stopped and turned to him, one side of him subtly lit up by the glow of the carnival and the other cast in the dark shadows of the inky night. You watched him through your lashes for a moment, letting the rush in your veins spur you on to follow through with this.

Slowly, you closed the distance and leaned up to him, gently planting a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t on his cheek (that would be too sisterly) but not too forward by giving him a full kiss either.

Even though it was chaste enough, it gave you goosebumps and a tickling feeling in your stomach. The warmth from his skin and roughness from his stubble was something you wanted to feel again and again. Gosh, this man gave you butterflies.

You didn’t fully pull away, enjoying for a moment the feeling of electricity in your veins at how close he was, but Jesse turned ever so slightly to look to you, lips just inches away from yours and heated breath mixing in with yours. He smelled like dirt and spice and metal. Darkly you couldn’t stop your mind from wondering if his lips and tongue would taste the same.

He opened his mouth to speak, and you looked from his lips to his eyes. They were heavy-lidded but definitely awake and alive now. They were deep blue pools and you were out to sea, drowning in them. You felt the warm brush of his fingertips moving up your neck, leaving you shivering in their wake as his nose dipping down to brush yours. His lips were so close to connecting with yours, you couldn't help but hold your breath, the anticipation of his kiss blinding you to the entire world.

But the moment was short-lived, cut short by that blonde-headed brute.

“Hey!” Brent called beside you, suddenly yanking you away from Jesse harshly.

You fell back, again hitting the well-trodden ground hard and feeling a burn on your arm where his rough hands grabbed you. 

“Brent!” you yelled, shocked and furious at the interruption.

He came with four or five other guys, all hulking and obviously ready for a fight. The pack wore sneers or confident, smug grins, standing between you and Jesse, partially blocking him from you though you could see his face in between their bodies from your spot on the cold ground.

“My mom is gonna kill me for the collar _you_ ripped,” he started, glaring at Jesse who’s eyes had gone threatening again. The shiver you had felt a moment ago- one of heat and longing and anticipation- was replaced by a much different kind. “So what I’m gonna do is rough you up a bit and call it even, huh kid?”

“Brent, stop!” You clamoured up and grabbed his arm, intending to pull him back but another of his goons yanked you down to the ground, this time even harder. You called out in pain for a moment, grabbing your wrist after you landed on it awkwardly in a tumble of skirts and dirt.

You only saw the last half of it, _that_ was how fast Jesse went. 

He somehow knocked down everyone there in _seconds_. But you could barely see with the boys swinging this way and that, all trying to land a punch or kick on Jesse. In quick succession, you heard grunts, groans, cracking, and yelps.

“Stay away from him!” you yelled, unsuccessfully dodging someone as they fell back with a thud, spinning you the opposite way. When you turned back, you were hit- _again_ , damn it!- as another falling body was knocked to the ground.

“Jesse!” you called out scrambling out from one of Brent’s brutes, not realizing that the fight had gone quiet.

You weren’t able to get your bearings before you felt arms sweeping under you, grabbing you in swift roughness as he picked you up. You knew it was Jesse before you actually saw him, his smell giving him away as your nose brushed into the crook of his neck.

He took the two of you clean across the empty park field faster than you could possibly move, wind rustling in your ears. Only when you reached the edge of the woods did he stop, the raucous festivities with its warm glow continuing on distantly in the background like nothing had happened.

Jesse set you down on the ground, the cover of black trees above and around you, but you grabbed him as you stood up, frantic.

“Did they hurt you?” you asked searching with eyes and hands over him for signs of injury.

You thought you had heard bones cracking but that couldn’t have been right? He looked just fine, without so much as a scratch on him.

“Jesse?” Your hand went to his face gently as the two of you panted, him from the fight and you from the panic.

But he stood still, leaning in closer to you like you would pull away at any moment. 

“You helped me for the second time tonight,” you said quietly, somehow in the darkness and closeness needing to keep your voice hushed.

He looked at you, eyes shifting to look almost pained. “No, I didn’t.”

His voice was strained, jaw clenched painfully tight. He put his hand on top of yours, pushing your fingers pleasantly deeper into his stubbly warm cheek. His head shook a little, somehow convinced- and sad of the fact?- that he hadn’t saved you twice tonight.

“Well, maybe I could’ve taken Brent,” you conceded, a little confused before brushing it off with a slight joke. “But the whole gang? Actually… I _am_ pretty quick so maybe you’re right.”

“Wake me up, Y/N,” he breathed, breath not getting calmer like yours, but speeding up. 

You stood still touching him, not sure what that meant before the answer came to you.

“I don't…” you started before swallowing, looking to his mouth. "Okay, Jesse."

In a moment his lips were on yours, a soft pressure making your eyes close and fingers hold him tighter as he sealed his lips to you. The kiss blossomed a dizziness and breathlessness in you, lungs and soul on fire. Before you could keep up with the overwhelming electricity sparking your senses, the kiss turned into something deeper and wetter and more desperate with each long second that passed. 

It wasn’t him but you that closed the distance between your bodies, all thoughts of rationality thrown out as you stood, kissing a basic stranger in the dark, alone on the edge of the woods. This connection shut down your mind and your body took over, unable to resist the drawn that was devouring you.

You stepped nearer, moving to get as close to him as physically possible, feeling his taunt and heated body against your suddenly shivering frame. One arm wrapped around your waist, binding you in. He moved his other hand to your face, then through your hair to the back of your head, pulling you in even deeper. You felt his tongue push passed his lips and yours, and your wish of tasting him came true. His tongue moved against yours, as though intent on taking over and consuming you. It was exciting and divine and you were seconds away from just throwing yourself at him, the heady smell and feel and fire from him leaving you a dizzy, hazy mess.

Shakily but with a boost of rationality, you pulled away, if only slightly. Quivering breathes were held between you as you worked up the courage to pull apart from him, taking as small a step back as you could muster. 

You didn’t want to pull away. You wanted to go deeper in with his man. He was confusing and bold and quiet and whatever he was was so alien to you in the best possible way. He was a complicated mess and you liked that. He was a challenge and you wanted to win him over. He was electric and cold and hot and everything you didn't know before now that you craved. This moment was as perfect as you had had in your life and you wanted to embrace it, scared and thrilled and everything in between.

Slowly his and your breathing began to level out in the darkness together, his back to the distant light of the carnival hiding him completely in shadow. You took hold of his gloved hand, finding yourself unable to stay completely without connection to him. 

You were about to speak, but something felt oddly wrong somehow in your perfect little bubble. You kept looking down to his hand feeling for what the source of that nagging was in you. Holding tighter, you felt like you were actually holding onto a statue and not a human hand. You opened your mouth to speak again, and turned up to look at him, but you didn’t get the chance.

Suddenly your vision went bright white, pain blinding you and stealing your breath away from your lungs so fast you slammed your knees to the ground for what felt like the thousandth time that night. 

But this time was so far and so terribly different than before.

You tried to gasp, tried to breathe but your lungs felt like they had collapsed in your chest. You clawed and dug your face into the ground, mouth open, melting and screaming internally at the pain you couldn’t voice.

Suddenly small gasps of air entered your lungs and you struggled against the searing pain as somehow it hurt _worse_ with oxygen in your chest again. You clutched your stomach, pain stemming from deeper in your gut than you thought was possible.

Wheezing and eyes filled with tears you turned your head up to the man standing above you. It was the second time you saw stars that night.

Through watery, burning eyes and a shaking body you saw Jesse. But he didn’t look the same. Not like when you held his hand, or when you had kissed. This was dead and stoic, watching you with such emotionless disinterest. It sent a stream of ice crackling through your veins.

You tried to voice his name, tried to scream, tried to move, but you couldn’t. You were crumpled there, crippled by a powerful blow to the stomach, unable to move or escape or ask _why_ this was happening.

You felt a frozen cold grip grab the back of your neck and you retched back, trying to get away, mind suddenly screaming inside your skull to get out, to get away _now_.

“S… s-stop!” you choked out, the pain in your throat erupting at the use. It took all of your effort but was barely even a hoarse whisper.

For the second time that night you felt his arms sweep you up, picking you up from your shuddering, crumpled position in the dirt and brambles. The pain at the movement made you gasp and gargle, seeing white again. He held you to him, crushing you against his frame as you tried to breathe and push the unbearable pain out but you couldn’t. 

You tried and wanted to reassure yourself that this was going end up fine. That something awful had happened, but everything would be fine. You would walk back to the carnival. You would see Mary-Anne again. You would live your life, this just one of countless happy nights you were bound to live out in your happy, simple life.

But you couldn’t convince yourself of any of that.

Because you knew in the pit of your bruised and beaten stomach that this wasn't going to end up being fine.

The only thing you could do was watch the warm glow of the carnival grow more and more distance through your tears, as he took you deeper and deeper into the woods.


	15. Rhythm & Reason

It’s like he was sleepwalking: moving but unconscious, eyes wild and angry, thrashing without rhythm or reason. His dark clothed frame was upright and whipping around frantically in the white cot of the medical bay. Steve and Sam had either arm, but it was a losing battle as their strength was limited and Bucky’s anger fueling this rage was not.

You knew what this was the second you saw the distantly icy ferocity in his blue eyes, half hidden behind the sweat-drenched hair that was stuck to his face and clenched jaw.

“He hasn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time in days!” Steve yelled over the commotion, face red with exertion from somehow managing to get his friend here to this point.

It was the Soldier again, Bucky’s fight response kicking it into full gear while he was in this half-dreaming, delirious state. 

When you had seen it here at the Tower before it had only been for a few minutes at most and you could always calm him down. But this was different.

Steve had called you in this time, frantic and half-yelling through the intercom system as this was as extreme as it had ever been. It was severely worsened by it being almost a _week_ of Bucky barely sleeping. And your confrontation with him yesterday _obviously_ did not ease his mind enough to sleep that night. 

Bucky kicked out against him, trying with trained, powerful muscles to twist and attack under Steve's grip. The bed creaked and screamed out against the weight and violent movements, threatening to collapse.

You had just half-ran into this, now standing in the doorway and watching Bucky’s bloodshot eyes not register anyone or anything around him. Your whole body was in knots before you even saw him, hearing the struggle from halfway down the hall. You couldn't help but wonder how you- the weakened, knowledgeless version of yourself- could be any help here with him so bad. 

Lamely you stood back, wringing your hands while your chest constricted in sympathy, watching the violent chaos unfold.

You _shouldn’t_ get involved. Last time you did, you ended up making things painfully worse between you. That stupid, agonizing, wonderful kiss burning on your lips and in your memory still. Not that his determined isolation from you was any less painful but still, it hung like a weight, holding you back with a soul-crushing mix of emotions.

Dr. Cho wheeled around the trashing trio with determined steps, running to grab a needle and some clear vial of liquid, presumably to knock him out with.

But it wouldn’t work. That you knew.

His body would burn it up too fast- just like alcohol- and he would be back in this state in minutes. If it had been that easy Bucky would’ve done it from day one.

“He’s going to tear this fucking place apart!” Sam yelled, struggling and sweating as he held on to Bucky’s flesh arm with all his strength. Not at all an easy task as you saw him sweat and strain against the exhausted, fury-filled Soldier.

Bucky yelled and growled against the restraints, guttural sounds and thrashes getting more and more violent and unhinged. He throttled the bed and banged back loudly against the wall, cracking the drywall and about ready to snap the arm of Sam right off.

_Shit!_

Your own emotions aside, Bucky needed you. It sat like a ton of bricks in your stomach but there wasn't much choice here. Whatever the outcome or his hatred or the ill-advised plan you were about to jump into, you had to do something before this all went to shit.

Because even with your mind wiped and heart in near constant torment, you were still _you_. You weren't one to sit back and couldn't do that anymore now.

A fully-conscious Bucky wouldn't approve when he found out. He would probably hate you all the more, but better that than have him kill himself here before your eyes. So you took a breath and walked towards him, a shaky plan coming together. 

“Hold him!” you shouted above the chaos before squeezing around to Sam's side. You pushed yourself into the non-existent space, feeling the bruises bloom on your legs from the metal of the bed, gripping onto the hard muscles of Bucky's rolling shoulders. Grabbing him with as iron of a grip as you could manage, you crawled up on the bed, putting one of your knees on either side of his hip, avoiding the kick of his legs.

You looked at him square in the delirious blue eyes, jostled hard against his movements, hand tangled in his sweat-drenched hair and on his hip to steady him.

“Bucky, it’s _me_ ," you said lowly, a mix of firm and pleading. It wasn't hard or angry but commanding and even. "I’m here.” 

He struggled against the men still, but he didn’t let out a ferocious yell and wasn’t moving so wildly, eyes then locked to yours. His breath came out of clenched teeth like a wounded, rage-filled hiss. You were almost scared that he would lunge, but for the moment he simply watched you with wild eyes.

You took a breath and with slow deliberate movements you leaned forward into him, touching your forehead to his hot and sweaty one. He flinched back a little as your cool skin touched his boiling skin, but you kept steady. 

Slowly you wrapped one arm around his shoulder and one around his waist, inching yourself closer. He stopped fighting besides some unpredictable jerks, though his breath was still pounding with effort. You moved your head down, pressing it into the crook of his neck, holding him close and tight. 

With a suddenly violent tug he wrenched his arm away from Sam, catching your breath in your lungs with a brief pulse of fear. But you felt it wrap around you, holding you like you were holding him, if not tighter. 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you looked to Steve, his arms straining to hold down Bucky's powerful prosthetic.

“It’s okay,” you mouthed to your friend. You hoped it wasn't a lie.

His eyes were glued to yours and he stood unmoving for a long moment. Hesitantly and carefully let go of his grip on the arm, a tight frown on his lips and worry in his brow. 

Bucky immediately closed that arm around you bracingly with a metal buzz. He leaned so his back was on that splintered drywall, holding you on top of him. He breathed big, violent breaths on your cheek, a low growl vibrating on and off in his chest.

“I’m here Bucky,” you whispered to him, the energy coming off of him anything but calm. “I’m here. You can sleep now.”

You heard someone walk closer and his body immediately tensed, binding you in a little too much as his arms became a vice around your back. You looked at Steve, shaking your head slightly, hands clutching onto Bucky painfully. Steve immediately raised his hand up to the Doctor behind you, whispering them away. 

At the silence and stillness, the Soldier began- however infinitesimally- give you the slightest amount of space to breathe again. Hungrily your lungs took in the heady stifling air that smelt of sweat and rage and your Soldier.

“Y/N…” Steve started, barely a whisper beside you. Bucky tensed again, the single soft word from Steve enough to possessively bind you into him again with strength you could barely stand.

God, you were surprised your ribs did crack under the pressure. You tried to keep your face from showing your pain, closing your eyes for a moment against Bucky's neck. If everyone would back off everything would be fine, but they needed to do it _now_.

“Please,” you whispered back softly to your friend. “I’ll be _fine_. So will he.”

“I can’t—” Steve started, the grumbling of Bucky’s growl deep in his chest getting ever so slightly louder.

“He _won’t_ rest and he’ll _crush_ me if you don’t," you breathed, trying not to let the panic of his constraints on you seep into your voice. " _Please_.”

There was a sigh and some hushed whispers- a lot of them- some angry and insistent and some soft and hesitant. You braced yourself against the pain of Bucky's iron hold on you, willing your tears to stay back.

But they knew as much as you did that if there was one person that had proven able to calm him down, it was you. No drugs would work and no restraints would hold him forever. 

You knew it was a struggle for them to make, but eventually if not reluctantly Steve took your advice. He knew as well as you did that Bucky was still human after all, and he'd go mad and die without sleep, whether he necessarily liked this plan or not.

So after some quiet shuffling everyone in the room was gone, and the lights were turned off.

It was still light in the room as it was only morning, and you were able to make out the curve of Bucky's shoulder and jaw in the grey light that streamed in. But it was quiet, calm, and for the first time in a week you felt warm again.

Like you had all that time ago, you quietly began to hum gently, just barely heard as you breathed the melody into his skin. Slowly you got just a little louder and ever so slightly nuzzled your nose against his neck, doing your best to soothe him. The rapid puffs of air that knocked his chest against you were battering, his possessive arms hold you fast long after the others had gone.

But after some time his breathing and pulse slowed, and his body relaxed deeper into the bed. His arms grew a little more limp, holding you to him instead of crushing you against him.

This was familiar. This was comfort and calm and reminded you of all those nights you had spent wrapped up and safe from enemies and dreams with him. You knew whatever rage and torment that he had been set with would be broken down by your presence. Just like he had done for you before too.

You closed your eyes against him, letting that warmth and security wash over you, blissfully hanging onto every second. You waited for him to drift off to sleep, savouring as much of this as you could before you did the same.

* * *

“So what did he say?”

“He didn’t say a thing. I left before he woke up.” 

It had been twenty hours since you calmed the sleep-deprived Bucky, and shockingly enough, you had been asleep with him for most of that. 

On waking up your body had felt like a brick, making it near impossible to leave that little bed. Not to mention how mentally intense a struggle it was convincing yourself to move before you absolutely had too. He was warm and familiar and more heavenly than you remembered, curled up in his lap and pressed to is chest, arms still circling you and his cheek pressed down against yours. It was intimate and sweet and you could help but trace light fingertips across his cheek in the murky grey light.

But it felt selfish to subject him- someone who clearly would rather suffer than have you around anymore- to waking up with you in his arms. You had been selfish enough and had gotten far closer than you should have lately. You had swallowed down the feel of his last kiss again, abrasive in intensity then soft and loving on your lips.

The pain of that and memory of his reaction spurred you on enough to carefully then quickly detangle from him, leaving the without looking back as he began to stir awake in the absence of your pleasant heat. You bolting rather than him this time was the less painful option, so it was the one you had taken.

You hadn't looked behind you as his blue eyes opened, catching you leaving in a rush.

“And before that?” Nat said before sipping her coffee, eyes looking over the rim at you across the kitchen island with a practiced innocence.

“That’s probably better left undisclosed,” you remarked.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” she said with a sly side smile. “I was hoping you two would kiss and make up.”

Yet again, your last kiss came to mind and you faced down, hanging your head for a moment, trying to feign indifference. You didn’t see Nat’s eyes wander towards the kitchen door and a distinct shadow cast on the other side of the frosted glass, before focusing back to you.

“Don’t think that’s in the cards for us anymore, Nat,” you said, an edge of dull sadness in your voice unable to hide.

“C’mon, Y/N,” she said leaning in with a low voice. “We heard you on the intercom at that base. That sounded _exactly_ like it’s in the cards.”

Leave it to Nat to have the balls to talk about _that_ night, the one where they wiped your mind and royally screwed up your entire fucking life. No one else had, even Steve. And for good reason.

“And trust me," she continued. "Someone with feelings like his doesn’t walk into a room and shoot two people dead for you. Not him anyway. Intense feelings like that don’t just disappear because the date you met moved back a couple of decades.”

You watched her, your mouth slightly agape and weary eyes a little incredulous. The redhead held an easy look of confidence and wasn't exactly dripping with sympathy.

“I _really_ think you’re under-appreciating the situation here," you remarked with an obvious scoff. 

Missed points include him kidnapping you to an evil organization, therefore subjecting you to decades of torture (and personally, repeatedly torturing you himself), sacrificing your soul piece by piece as you were forced to torture in turn under their command. You know, the little things.

“Good,” she said with a smile, voicing lifting as she sat up straighter and leaned forward on the island. “Easy solution than. I’ll fix you up with someone. You don’t want to stay out of the game too long anyway.”

You blanched at her, completely stunned into silence for a solid few seconds.

“ _What?!_ " you half-shouted into the kitchen. "How could you _possibly_ say that? What- Where is that even _coming_ from?!”

“Sometimes healing is easier with two,” she shrugged, before feigning seriousness. “And you deserve someone to support you through all this chaos. But I do see the gravity of your situation here. Maybe someone else on the Team? Probably easier that way with the whole Hydra situation happening. Someone who can handle a fight.”

“Wow,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You are _so_ off base here it’s _unbelievable_.”

Never had you heard anything remotely close to this conversation come from Natasha before now, and you could not wrap your mind around why she thought now was a good time to have it.

“The obvious answer would be Steve, but maybe you’ve been too friendly,” she said, leaning back casually and speaking to herself moreso than you. “Sam has some real potential too. I could see you two getting cozy.”

“ _Natasha_.”

“What?" she asked innocently enough, shrugged as she took another sip. "Are you going to walk around for the rest of existence alone if you can’t have him?"

“ _Yes,_ ” Your skin was flush with heat and fists clenched at your sides. This was unbelievable and you did _not_ want to get into this. Anything but this. Hydra? Sure. Your mind wipe and identity crisis? Why not. Just not _this_. Not talk of living life without him.

“Really?" she said dully, eyeing you carefully. "You’d rather be in pain- more pain than he’s already caused you- than just find someone else? Even someone you’ve known longer and better, who hasn’t _actually_ hurt you?”

“ _Yes_ , damn it."

“Seems unbelievable to me,” she said with an eyebrow raise, taking another sip.

“Listen, how is this hard to understand?" you said, breathing hard in your emotional outrage. "And I’m only going to say this _once_ , for the record. I _know_ who I want. One person. Just _one_ specific person. I couldn’t _be_ happy with anyone else, I couldn’t heal as you mentioned, or find support or solace in _anyone_ else. And moreover I don’t _want_ too, thank you very fucking much.”

“So what," she returned. "You’ll stay alone forever rather than find someone else?”

“I think I was _quite_ clear, Natasha.”

“And you would rather stay in pain without him? Because you’re barely eating, not at all sleeping, and barely have spoken with anyone. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. But that’s probably from your ordeal with Gerault, right.”

Oh gross, that made you sound like a love-sick fool.

“I’m _one hundred percent_ physically healed from that ordeal, thank you," you spat, face still on fire from this line of questioning. "So yes, maybe all the rest of that is because of Bucky but that’s just how it is.”

“And you really love him that much to live like this?" she asked, repeating herself. "Even after what he’s done?”

“I wasn’t lying to him when I said this and I’m not lying to you,” you seethed. “He _didn’t_ hurt me and yes I fucking love him that much.” 

A beat passed and you internally cringed at your choice of words.

Fuck, you couldn’t believe you just actually admitted that to her.

_Fucking spies!_

She was quiet for a moment, almost looking smug.

“Hmm, yeah I think you do really love him.”

Her eyes flitted to the door behind you for a moment as she took another sip. In a confused flash, you turned around, seeing a dark silhouette vanish down the hall from view.

_Oh god, no..._

You stayed still with your eyes on the door, silent and still for a drawn-out moment before quietly speaking.

“Why do I feel like you weren’t talking to me at all there?” you whispered, dread filling you at knowing who that familiar silhouette was.

She got up, leisurely walking towards the door and taking another slow sip of coffee.

“Now why would you think that?”

* * *

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” you muttered, rushing into the med bay. You didn’t immediately notice Bucky there standing with arms crossed at Dr. Cho with Steve moderating the conversation just beside him.

“Tis a sprain,” Thor announced, one arm around your waist and one gingerly holding your wrist out flat and steady. “... Though it may be broken.” 

“What happened?” Dr. Cho said, cutting her conversation short and swiftly walking over.

“Thor was helping me train,” you started, placing your wrist down on a table while the Asgardian hovered above you. “Tony walked in and the God of Pain here got distracted, resulting in this.”

“In my defense, your bones seem quite brittle,” he countered, procuring a sour expression from your while the doctor looked it over. “Perhaps the doctor could assist you in bolstering them.”

“Why were you training with Thor?” Steve asked, walking up. 

You registered him, then Bucky behind him with a stab to your heart, watching you carefully though not meeting your eyes, if still staying back. You had yet to say a word to him since you whispered a goodbye in his skin as he slept the day before, had yet to see him beyond a fading shadow.

“Well,” you shrugged, tearing your eyes away from his reserved and closed-off look and back to Steve with a gulp. “You won’t train me how I want to be trained and I’m hard-pressed to find someone that will for _some_ reason, save Thor.”

“Ah, so assuredly this injury is Steve’s fault,” Thor interjected, shaking his head in disapproval of Steve. He was immediately met with a sassy "really?" type look from the Captain, before he turned to you.

“You know I think you should be able to defend yourself-” Steve started out, a conversation you were sick of having at this point.

“From an enemy that is definitely and actively after me,” you pointed out.

“Now that you can be triggered again,” he finished. You didn’t notice Bucky’s wide eyes jerk from the ground back to you. “But I won’t teach you how to _kill_ someone, Y/N. We all think it best that you don’t pick up a skill you shouldn’t have in the first place. _Right, Thor_?”

“Ah! Yes, indeed,” Thor said, face going almost comically serious. “And with your brittle bones, I think it best we hold off training together. Indefinitely.”

“Yeah. Right,” you commented tersely. 

You looked between the two blonde boys with their blank, innocent expressions and knew that something was up here. You got the same feeling you had when you had talked with Nat, like you were being corralled into something and you didn't know what.

Bucky had been there in the shadows undoubtedly behind the kitchen doors earlier you presumed, and here he was again, in the med bay of all places. Unless absolutely necessary, neither of you liked being here in the least. You both had enough medical treatments in your lifetime. And there was also the fact that there was legitimately no reason why no one else would train at all with you.

The only one left now was Bucky. And now he knew it too. How convenient.

“It looks to be broken,” Dr. Cho said, looking more at Thor than you as you kept narrowly searching them. “But I can have you healed in minutes. Follow me?”

With that you followed Dr. Cho and left the three men behind, muttering to yourself.

* * *

This Team meal thing was one of the first ever, though everyone insisted you used to do it all the time. 

Almost everyone was there: Tony and Steve decked out in aprons and fluttering around the kitchen, while Nat and Sam watched smirking from the kitchen island. Clint was sitting with Wanda in the adjoining living room area, with Vision on the opposite couch. Bucky had pulled a stool to the edge of the kitchen counter near the door, able to see everyone from his little corner. More than once you felt his eyes on you.

You were lying down leisurely on the clear glass hallway floor, suspended above and between these two large open rooms and gaggle of people.

“C’mon, you would never sing for me before,” Tony continued, spatula in one hand, glass of whiskey in another. “This is a new opportunity.”

“Singing must have been a tactic for me you know, so you can’t blame me for not doing it for you before,” you responded, tilting your head in his direction. “Do you know how long it must’ve taken me to learn how to _sing_ my way out of brainwashing, of all things?” 

“No,” he said, cheekily. “Do you?” 

Steve turned from the stove and gave Tony a hard look at that.

“No, actually,” you shrugged good-humouredly. “But I don’t think it was all too painless a process. I doubt I see singing as a fun activity.”

For some reason it sprung up in your mind that you had hummed for Bucky sometimes when he had had his nightmares. Singing was used for you to escape. And you had used it to help him escape his torment too. It was personal, or a security thing you thought maybe.

“Well, your memory is officially shot to hell anyway, so this is a great time to turn over a new leaf.”

“Okay,” you started, moving on your side with your elbow propped up, head resting on your hand. “You _literally_ have this entire building hooked up to countless speakers which would sound far better than me, I’m sure.”

“Listen, I’m cooking the meal,” Again, another hard look from Steve at that, who was in fact doing all the work. “I just need a little entertainment. Who better than a bonafide, certified Siren?”

You rolled back, head resting back on the floor for a moment.

But you turned down towards Bucky, as you could feel him watching you. His eyes were on your body before you both broke your gaze.

“Fine, you’ll start paying room and board immediately," Tony kept going.  "Training room and pool access are extra. In this part of the city? Expect the rent to be sky high kiddo.”

“Fine fine,” you droned, giving up. It’s not like you actually cared much _now_ anyway. “What did you want to hear.”

“Something classic,” Tony said triumphantly. “How about “What’ll I Do”?”

“Oh, that must have been after my time,” you teased.

“It was out in the _twenties_ , you minx. Now sing.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and putting your arm under your head. Whatever reason you had (you assumed terrible pain) not to sing before had been wiped away. So this was harmless. It was the insistence of it and this whole Team dinner thing that made you suspicious. And again, Bucky was there too. Like the group of them were steering you two together under any pretense.

You took a breath and tried to push him out of your head, starting off the song slowly, filling the room:

_“[What’ll I do](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F5T2P0ks7daXXabyuvaq9xJ%3Fsi%3DVdu9X-68Qj68Zwg50k80iQ&t=YjgxOGJjNzI5YmJkMjk3MjE2ODQyODlhMThjZDRkNjUwMTk5NjdjYyxaVk9PWDI0Wg%3D%3D&b=t%3AZT_JIEV9gr9srCyvv57IAw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwhitewolfbumble.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175451544243%2Fthe-fallout-part-thirteen-bucky-x-reader&m=1)_  
_when you_  
_are far away_  
_and I am blue?_  
_What’ll I do?”_

For a moment everyone’s had their eyes on you, but you felt them drop away as you continued, your sweet melody reverberating around the glass that held you. All eyes left you, except Bucky’s.

_“What’ll I do_  
_when I_  
_am wondering who_  
_is kissing you_  
_what’ll I do?”_

It was a slow song, one far more suited to a dark, cozy evening than a bright dinner party. Somehow you thought that was the point.

_“What’ll I do_  
_with just_  
_a photograph_  
_to tell my troubles to?”_

You turned your head, eyes still closed, feeling Bucky’s gaze still on your skin. 

You remembered when he had asked you to sing. It caught you a little off-guard with his phrasing, asking you to sing for him. He backtracked but you remembered the look on his face when he asked. You imagined he was wearing that same expression now.

_“When I’m alone_  
_with only dreams of you_  
_that won’t come true_  
_what’ll I do?”_

* * *

It was well after dinner and you had waited until Steve, the last of the crew, left the now spotless kitchen.

After he parting ways with Clint, you cut Steve off in at the end of the hall. His eyes wide in surprise at seeing you, the setting sun lighting up you both in a deep burnt orange glow. 

“Y/N,” he said, waiting for you to start as your crossed arms and frown gave away your mood.

“Please stop intervening,” you said, not harshly but firmly. “And that goes for the others too.”

You held his stare as he tried to lie. And let it be known that Steve Rogers was not cut out to be a liar.

“Intervening?" he said innocently. "I don’t know what you mean.” 

Well, if he was going to play oblivious, you certainly weren’t. So you launched right into it:

“I assume you sent Bucky up to the kitchen when I was talking with Nat, who pretty much had a conversation with him through me, _embarrassingly_ enough. Also with Thor inexplicably being the _only_ one willing to train with me and “accidentally” sending me to the med bay while you and Bucky _happened_ to be there? Who you probably dragged in under some false pretenses and made sure he knew that I was untrained and trigger-able again. And yeah, a particular thanks for _that_. Though I absolutely believe Thor hurting me went too far, right?”

He didn’t answer or meet your stare, looking positively guilt-ridden. Clearly that part of the plan had gone wrong.

“Yeah, thought so," you snapped. "And all of us together for a meal? I assume you dragged Bucky to that too. Add in Tony making me sing a sappy, forlorn little love song about missing a former flame? Jesus, Steve.”

He opened his mouth to speak but just looked down.

“Listen, stop manipulating us and _him_. You all have tried this subtle way to try and get us together but lately it has _not_ been that subtle, and if I’m catching on so is he. So just quit it.”

You turned to leave in a hurry, but he caught your arm with a sigh. 

“We’re not… Y/N, please.” 

You bit your lip for a second, wondering if you actually wanted to hear his response, before turning back to him.

“We weren’t trying to manipulate you, we just… You’re both hurting," he said with a sigh. "And let’s be honest, you both need each other. You’ve tried to get through to him, now _we’re_ trying. And honestly, _you_ are the best way to get him to see reason.”

“So what? You want him to see what’s he missing?” you said sarcastically. 

A brain-wiped, previous torture-master, and Hydra protegé. Yeah, a real catch.

“You know he’s… he’s been struggling with this. All of this. The pain he’s caused to you. Because he does have feelings for you, Y/N, I know it. Somehow he thinks you would be better off without him, with anyone else. His pain and lack of self-worth has blinded him the truth. We’re just giving him some needed help.”

“But you have been pushing us together from the start almost, huh,” you said flatly.

“He got there all on his own some time ago,” Steve countered. 

Something about his eyes made you believe him. You didn’t have a response to his honesty.

“But yeah, I have,” he continued, shrugging and not exactly apologetically. “You both deserve happiness here, Y/N. Don’t stop trying. He’ll come around.”

* * *

You had been thinking of Steve’s words all evening. The fact was you were hard-pressed to sit back and let things fall where they may anyway.

You had been distant (understandably, maybe) and it was time you tried a little harder. If you did, maybe the rest of the Team would back off. And that couldn’t happen soon enough. You don’t think you could handle another dinner where he watched his food the whole time and left in a hurry as soon as he could, like you were some kind of repellent.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you asked, alone in your dark room. “Can you ask Bucky to meet me in the lounge?”

The night had completely set in by now, inky black skies broken up by a spattering of tiny little white stars and one half-crescent moon. You were perched in the corner couch, not bothering to turn on the fireplace in favour of watching the night.

You felt more than heard him walk in. It had been a while since you had called him, though it was hardly expected that he would come running. You were just glad he came at all.

“Have I told you I’m sorry yet?” you started quietly, not turning to him for either his sake or yours. You couldn't really say. “For kissing you the other night? You weren’t _you_ exactly and it was… wrong of me to do it. I’m really very sorry.”

Silence hung between you, as it often had before. Recently it was a distant, pained silence. This one felt different. Slightly more like the easy silence that had once been, not icy or cold. You couldn’t exactly place why.

“It was me,” he responded eventually, voice as quiet as yours. “Not the whole time, but most of it. I knew what it was.”

“You did?” you asked a little incredulous, turning to him. God, that was a relief.

He only nodded a little, watching you. You could see something behind his eyes, words he wanted to say to you. So you waited.

“I’ve been thinking about when I took you," he started and you were silent, afraid that any word from you would scare away his resolve to speak. “I think… I remember it. Bits and pieces. I thought it was a dream, really.”

He pulled his hand through his hair, remembering back to the first time you had met. That carnival was a warm and beautiful night, one you thought you would have hundreds more of, with your sweet friends and simple life. Bucky had changed that.

“I remember crowds of people,” he said tentatively, eyes distant as he pulled up that night, same as you were. “Which I hate… and, and you. I remember you touching me… my hand."

You watched him drag his metals fingers across the skin of his hand, remembering the feel of you there. You remembered it too, the inviting and electifying warmth he held.

“And I remember kissing you," he said, barely above a whisper. "It was like you were bringing me back. Back to myself.”

He turned to you, blue eyes looking unreadable in the darkness as the pale moon got caught in them. “I think that was why I took you. Because I wanted you to wake me up. To find a way out.”

“I sorry I couldn’t,” you whispered, gutted at failing him. You could have saved you both if you had only known. Had only found a way to help him then. “I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he admitted, meeting your stare. “But I wouldn’t have gotten here without you.”

“I disagree… but thanks, Bucky.”

He rolled his shoulder, prosthetic arm subtly buzzing. He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the words stuck in his throat. Again, you waited until he was ready to speak them.

“I’m _not_ good for you,” he started, before finishing quietly. “But you’re good for me.”

You sat, a small easy smile on your lips for the first time in a while. The silence hugged you both, and though Bucky shifted his weight ever so slightly, it kept you together.

“I disagree,” you repeated, then sighed with that pleasant, sleepy smile on your lips. “You're worthy, Buck. And loved, by a number of people. And you’re not what they made you. You’re you. And that’s more than good enough.”

You immediately got up, smooth and quiet so as not to disturb the equilibrium. You didn’t want to give him a chance to disagree or downplay your words. He might not be ready to hear it yet. But you promised him you would keep saying it, so you would.

With a quiet nod goodnight, you walked silently through the lounge with his eyes on you the entire way, before making your way through the hallways to your room.

Did he forgive you now? Or had he forgiven himself? You doubted the answer to the last question was a positive one, but maybe he was realizing that his past didn’t dictate his present worth anymore? Without your distance from him lately with was impossible to tell.

You hoped, anyway. And after tonight you hoped all the more fervently that the distance between you was closing. 


	16. Ripples Turning to Waves

“You called me down here to train Steve?” you said, zipping off your black hoodie as you heard someone walk into the training room. Your back was to the door as you looked out the broad training room windows, lips pursed and tone sarcastic. “I thought you didn’t think defending myself was the best idea? _Hmm_?”

But you stopped still as you turned to face your friend, seeing who it was instead. 

Everything at once had paused at Bucky's unassuming, quiet presence, your senses leaving you and heart-stopping mid-beat. The feel of your soft hoodie in your hands, the musty sweat smell of the room, the buzz of the city below all gave way when he walked in.

He was dressed simply, in black sweats and black shirt, but his expression wasn't as dark as it had been in recent days. Or maybe that was just the trick of the light shining in.

“Oh, sorry Bucky,” you said quietly, backing away to give him some space though he was still across the room, saying your excuses before turning to grab your water bottle to leave. “I thought I was meeting Steve. I'll just uh, go.” 

“I’m training you,” he said, the deep timbre of his voice measured. And again, you froze. This time the flow of blood in your ears was all you could hear for a few seconds.

Turning slowly on your heels you looked at him, eyes wide to met his deep blue ones. What had prompted _that_? He had been distant. Brooding. Pained at being in the same room as you it seemed. Now he wanted this? 

Maybe the Team had gotten through to him.

Or maybe you had?

“Um… really? Why?” you questioned, it coming out far more incredulous than you really intended.

His gaze shifted from you for a moment, flesh hand holding the metal of his other wrist as he shrugged. 

“They won’t,” he said simply, as though that overruled all the reasons he had _not_ to train you. To be near you even.“And you need it. At least if just for now.” 

You matched his reserved, still stance with your own, though you didn't feel exactly calm. Moreso still just confused.

“You do know that they… Well, they’re pretty well orchestrating this, right?”

Steve and the whole crew had gone to great lengths to try and steer the two of you together lately. And maybe they did not know the whole situation but they knew enough. You figured Bucky wouldn’t have been so easily won over by their games.

But as that thought struck you, you knew this wasn’t merely game to him, was it. It was your life and maybe having you around now was brutally hard for Bucky, but there was still an enemy out there that no one else in the world knew better than the two of you. He knew what it meant to be defenseless against them. He knew what would happen if they won. And he took it damn seriously. There was a fate worse than death waiting on the other side of this if you lost.

He nodded, unfazed. “Yes, and they are _stupid_ for playing with your life like that.” 

Again, his words were practically yours, as you had basically said as much to Steve. A pang hit you in the stomach as you missed the days of silent understanding between you and Bucky. You were both "raised" per se by Hydra, that experience connecting you. Coupled with spending nearly all waking (and sleeping) hours together for a time, you couldn't help the stab of pain. You just _missed_ him. The way he looked at you, the way he understood you, the way he spoke to you, the way his body was formed so perfectly to fit yours...

Quickly you tried to forget those feelings, swallowing them down as a wave of longing sprung up.

“So you and I…” you started a little hesitant, hands clutching your sweater tightly. “We’re... talking again? Like friends?”

“Yeah,” he said maybe a little gruffly, not looking you in the eyes exactly.

He didn't continue or elaborate, the two of you just standing there in silence for a long moment in time.

Maybe it wasn’t resounding “yes” but you would certainly take it.

* * *

You had been at it for hours, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing in exhaustion being Bucky himself. 

While you were training you were with him- going over stances and the very basics of blocking to start off- that gaping hole in your chest was soothed. But if you stopped, the second you walked out the door it could disappear. He could slink back into his isolation and leave you aching all over again. So you kept sparring, screaming muscles and dripping sweat be damned.

It took a desperate amount of time before he slipped back into some kind of normalcy with you, able to talk somewhat openly again. It had been like a chess game, the strategy delicately and purposefully played. 

You, focusing on technical sparring questions first, like the position of your feet compared to your hips in whatever stance he was teaching you. He never touched you and never got too close at first, choosing to demonstrate and talk you through adjustments. He was a natural teacher actually, having mastered the basics about 70 years ago.

And as his voice got a little less gruff and curt, you began to make general comments of the moves. It worked, engaging him in brief conversation even if that part took the better part of two full hours.

Then you dug a little deeper, about him and his fighting experience. Where he was when such and such happened, what the country was like, how the weather must be this time of year... Then it evolved from there to just normal but quick talking points on everyday topics. But he was talking and talking to _you_  again of all people. Even if it meant training until your muscles disintegrated under your skin, you were determined to keep going.

The conversation alone had been exhausting enough, you constantly having to gauge and recalculate your words so as not to push too far. It was sapping all extra brain space to do so, keeping you slightly out of focus on the actual _sparring_ that was happening concurrently.

You fell back with a half grunt, half sputtering yell as a punch you should have easily been able to dodge landed on your ribcage.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Bucky said, stepping over and bending down.

His hand hovered just above your shoulder, but moved away as you crawled back up to your feet. You were bent over a little, hands on your hips and breath heavy in your chest. What you felt most of all in that moment was _pathetic_ , not pain. The punch had not been near full force (none of this was even close), you both going through the motions and trying to get you to perfect each small sequence.

You straighten up and waved him off, walking to the bench to grab your water bottle. You took a sip before taking off your black long-sleeved shirt, revealing a black tank top below.

“My ego is bruised, not my body,” you said when enough oxygen was back in your lungs to speak. “I saw that from a _mile_ away and still couldn’t dodge it.”

But Bucky rather didn’t seem to hear your words, looking instead down your chest and arms. It wasn't leering or lude in any way, and you could guess what he was thinking behind those guarded blue eyes as he stood there, studying your exposed skin. You let him scan over all of your many and varied scars, not saying a word.

He didn’t used to notice or care when holding you pressed up to him at night, having more than a few himself riddled across his body. but now he was seeing you in a different light than those warm dark nights together. In this moment his gaze and silence spoke volumes, and you knew the next topic of conversation had to be this, for his sake.

“You can ask me, Bucky," you said, calmly. There was no demand in your voice or pity there either; both risked ending this before it started. "I promise, I won’t run.”

He complied.

“Those scars…" he asked, nodding vaguely to you as he looked back into your eyes. "Where are they from?”

You pointed to one on your left shoulder, a curved gash that had been from a knife. It was quite faded now, a wide and long yet thin line. You remembered it being far more red and swollen and bloody. You could still remember what the muscle under the skin looked like there.

“That was from you,” you said, answering the question he wanted to ask, not the one he did ask. “And this one.”

You pointed to another one on the opposing forearm. It was ghostly and a little more jagged, the line of the permanent scar a touch more raised than the one your shoulder.

“I don’t remember how I got all of them, but those two I know. I wish I could fill in the rest of the blanks, save us both from starting me almost completely over,” you said with a gesture to where he was standing, wishing you weren’t such a novice at fighting.

But that statement wasn’t totally true; you remembered a lot of training from the earliest years at Hydra. But definitely not up to the level you had been. It was harder to do it under your own control now and not theirs. Eventually they let you more “off the leash” but in the beginning they were the puppeteers. The muscle memory from their control hadn’t sunk in yet. It was like your body _missed_  it, and was purposefully slow and sluggish without them commanding you. It made you hate yourself in a way you never thought you could, as though not only Hydra but your own body betrayed you. Yet another searing burn in this circle of hell you called your shattered life.

Bucky nodded to you at your answer, going distant. Something else was pooling behind those eyes, and there were words on his lips that he wasn’t saying. You could see the movement of his tongue behind his clenched jaw, rolling them around. You could feel the weight of his unspoken words in the air.

“Tell me Bucky,” you said again, pushing aside your own feelings, waiting for him to carry on. 

You _so_ wished he would. Getting him talking, even about this, was a win. Would help heal this one part of your life you wanted above all.

One side of his face cringed just ever so slightly, as though he was embarrassed or pained. His head slightly shook as he shifted his weight, standing in the middle of the mat across from you.

“Do you really want to remember everything that I did to you… everything that happened to you?”

His pain flashed brighter and felt briefly hotter, gusting at you from where he stood. 

“No, I certainly don’t," you admitted easily, as it was the truth. You did not want to _have_ to remember, but no knowing put you in far more danger. "I’ve read enough about what I did to freeze my _blood_  until the day my _body_ is stone cold dead... But can I ask you something? Something personal?”

He hesitated, face minutely paling at the unknown impending question. But he gave a terse nod. Bucky leaned back slightly like he was bracing for you to fight him or something, and seemed almost resigned to take the beating.

“Can you leave this life behind?" you asked, gesturing to nothing and yet everything. "Or I guess would you want too?”

“You mean fighting, training…" His lips curled down slightly in a frown, not expecting the question. "Everything?”

“Yeah," you confirmed with a shrug.

You already knew his answer because it was the same as yours would be. He just didn’t understand that yet.

He took a moment, eyes pulling away. You could almost see him create a normal life in his head, living out what his dream situation would be. You couldn't let yourself fantasize about what that would be for him, as you felt your absence from it was all but guaranteed at this point. Unbeknownst to you and in reality, that was far from the truth.

“I would,” he started before looking back at you, the colour of his face returning to its flushed hue. “But I can’t.”

“Because even though you _could_ leave," you explained slowly. "The past wouldn’t leave _you_ behind. It would come after you.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost sadly. “Always does.”

“It’s the same _here_ with me, Bucky," you all but implored, trying to get him to understand. "I can’t leave this. Maybe I want to now but maybe I don’t. I can’t exactly say anymore. But my past? That’s not going to _let_ me go. So I have to stand and fight. And right now I _can’t_ fight. I’m here and defenseless for all intents and purposes. I have to pick back up where I used to be. I may want a fresh start- and maybe I’ll get one in some small way- but I will never be able to truly leave.”

“They would do anything to set that up for you," The edge of imploring now in his quieted voice. "Give you every opportunity.” 

He nodded towards the door, motioning to the Avengers scattered through the building behind it. Your friends. Your family.

And it was tempting. Asking the Team to pull resources, knowledge, and skills to get you out. To set up a life for you outside of these walls and this life. Keeping you away from a fight that maybe you could have won before but you could not win now.

... Honestly though, it really didn’t change your mind on it all. Your resolve was the same as it had been, even if the fear had gone up to the nth degree.

“Yeah, but I guess I’ve never been good at running away from a fight, only towards it," you shrugged, throwing your shirt down on the bench.

“I could go after them, all of them.”

The tone of his voice made your eyes shoot back up to his. The blue in them shone with a dark flicker, a deadly vow that would be unbreakable if made behind them now. You coudl guess what the outcome of that promise would be, and you narrowed your eyes, wondering if you were in fact right about what he was inferring.

“Most of the men I know you don’t want around alive Bucky," you started slowly. "You don’t need to fight them for me.”

“But I would,” he swallowed, taking half a step closer to you. “And it could be permanent.”

The disambiguated voices of Hydra you heard above you as your mind was wiped came back, along with the feel and taste of their brain and blood hitting you. 

He had already proved he would do it. He had thought about doing it again clearly. And doing it for you.

That didn’t make you feel any better though. Not at all.

Because it wouldn't be self-preservation that drove this soldier who renounced the fight to dive back into it.

“Killing the people who hurt me won’t take away your _guilt_ Bucky," you said firmly though not harsh. "And it won’t change what this is. It's my fight and I think I want to fight it. So will you help me? I don’t just mean “for now” like you offered before. But _actually_ train me?”

There was a pause, your requested heavily weighted and thought through as he watched you. He stood on the precipice of either being on your side (at least in this way) or remove himself from your life yet again. You both knew this was a plunge he wouldn't be able to come back from because if he were to do this, he would see it through. You would become the mission now, just like he had been for you.

“Alright.” The word was simple, the promise behind it was not.

* * *

You thought maybe it was the intensity of the training session with Bucky, but the next day as you rolled into the kitchen, you realized that this painful daze was not from only your stiff muscles but a throbbing migraine.

“Where was the party?" Clint said from the kitchen island as he eyed your haggard appearance, his mouth full and crunching way too loudly for your ears. "Shame I didn’t get an invite.” 

“Don’t worry,” you said, voice sounding more than a little rusty. You squinted in his general direction, the morning sun streaming through the windows too bright. “I missed it too. Just trying to fight a headache not a hangover.”

“Who are we fighting?” Nat said, sliding over a coffee cup filled with steaming liquid and a tad bit of cream. The grating sound it made on the counter about made you blanch.

“Headache,” you repeated.

Nat nodded in understanding, not needing to look you over twice in your stiff and pained state; it was more than clear you were struggling this morning. She sat down with Clint who was reading the newspaper comics, while she flipped to the politics section.

You didn’t bother sitting, not having the energy or will to walk the five feet to a stool, and bent down towards the counter with your arms pressed against the cold marble for support. Dazed, you looked down to the subtly rippling mug in front of you for a minute. Something about it was confusing, but you couldn’t figure out why. Your brain could barely put a thought together through the building ache of it all.

A quick ripple moved through the coffee again and you pulled your eyebrows together.

Suddenly you understood, seeing a dark, filmy liquid mix in with the light coloured coffee. Your hand went to your nose and when you pulled back, your fingertips were covered in thick shiny blood. You made a surprised exclaim; a raspy little noise from the back of your throat. The sound was enough for Nat and Clint to take note and spring up into action.

Nothing like a little blood to snap two spies into serious mode.

“Steve, we’re taking Y/N to the med bay,” Nat said to him, courtesy of F.R.I.D.A.Y. patching her through.

“Why does Steve need to know about a nosebleed?” you questioned, being ushered on either side by the pair, their hands securely guiding you by your elbows out the kitchen and down the hall to the elevator. But you were ignored by them both, being practically carried as your slow feet were barely keeping up.

“We’re just landing now," Steve said through the comm, the familiar droning buzz of the quinjet engines behind him. "I’ll be there in under three.”

“Steve, please don’t come I swear it’s… Did you say landing?”

* * *

“I really am _fine_ ,” you reassured quietly to Steve, his arms crossed. 

Some saw it as a neutral or casual position for him, but you always thought it was something more. Maybe concern for others or protection for himself? Or maybe the med bay made him uncomfortable too. Either way he just in front of you leaning back against the wall, having found yourself yet again on a med bay cot after treatment. You still didn't feel exactly right, but drastically better than half an hour ago.

“I know, I just care about you, okay?” he said with a curve of his lips. He really didn't have to be here after a mere nosebleed, which- considering the fighting the Team does- is hardly cause to raise the alarm. But at the end of the day, he was your closest friend and you didn't exactly mind having the company.

“So now that that's over," you said, steering the conversation from you to something you did want to talk about. "Can you tell me now where you were?”

“Yeah, good news for us," he said with an upbeat lift to his voice. "It looks like The Black is taken care of, once and for all. Tony and I were at the Raft today; that's where we flew in from. We marched the last of them there early this morning after a successful raid late last night.”

That was a surprise, to say the least.

“Wow, one enemy down... I guess,” you said in shock, feigning approval. 

It seemed a little hollow, not being there yourself. Not after your long history with them, both past and recent. You had always imagined that you would be the one to take them down finally. They were connected to you, they worked with you, you knew (at one point) how they worked and operated.

And now they were just… taken care of?

You understood you weren't in shape enough to go after them, fight them, and win against but it didn't seem right that you were here, nose bleeding over nothing, while a real and personally significant fight was happening. After you somewhat demolished Frenz and the others here at the Tower, you thought it more your mission to fulfill. 

So this anti-climatic news was disappointing.

... But you could admit that you also had a bigger fish you were after whose demise would be far sweeter. You focused on that thought instead.

“How is Tony going to celebrate that?” you said, trying to snap out of your head and back into the conversation, ignoring the let-down feeling of The Black and the fear of Hydra on the horizon.

“I don’t know but I’m already scared,” he joked, the two of you knowing the man too well to assume there wouldn't be some kind of victory celebration. “I’m sure he’ll cook up something.”

“Yeah, no doubt,” you mused.

It was then a nurse came in, a small and quick smile on her face as she ignored your leaning away and pulled out the IV from the arm, replacing it with a cotton ball and a bandaid. Whatever was in that IV bad was did wonders for your headache. 

“Alright," you said once you got the go-ahead to leave from her, hopping off of the bed. "Time to train again I think.”

“C’mon," He looked at you dryly. "You can’t be serious.”

“The Doctor gave me a clean bill of health," you insisted, his arm pulling you back a moment until you looked him pointedly in the eye. "A mind-wipe isn’t without some side effects I’m sure. I’ll take a headache and nosebleed over brain damage any day. And The Black might be taken care of, but Hydra certainly isn’t. _And_ I thought you wanted Bucky and I to train together, hmm?”

Steve chose not to respond to that and instead released you, gesturing towards the door. “Maybe you’ll humour me if we start off slow and go for a jog first?”

“You know that won’t tire me out enough to skip training, but sure,” you said, seeing through him as you headed out of the med bay you disliked so much.

Skipping that would also mean less time with Bucky, and that was a commodity you weren’t giving up. 

* * *

Freak nosebleed and migraine occurrences were apparently in full force today. During your run, it happened again.

You, Steve, and Bucky had been running in silence, you and Bucky only exchanging a quick hello before you three set off. You weren’t sure if Steve had planned this or not, but you thought not actually. That left Bucky, who could have left once he saw you or run ahead. But he didn’t and a sense of relief spread through you. His promise from earlier was still holding fast.

You had been running between the two of them for maybe twenty minutes, the three of you keeping in perfect stride with each other, until you felt a nagging at the base of your neck that began to spread into your head.

You were the first one to disrupt the silence by saying a “Here, keep going”, causing the two to turn to you as you feigned bending down to check your shoelaces. Their steps didn’t falter and when they turned forward, you gripped the back of your neck, letting out a pained exhale through your nose.

What came out was both hot air and blood, splattering on the indoor running track and your shoes. In a moment a blinding pain erupted in your temple and you fell to your knees like a rock, thumping hard against the unyielding ground.

“Bucky?” you called out, your immediate response. 

You didn’t think what you were saying, just how you were saying it. You had tried to make it sound like someone politely getting someone else's attention, but this came out far more urgent and strangled.

The blinding pain of your migraine made you again squint at the intensity, but Bucky’s hands were on your face in a flash, pulling your barely-seeing gaze up to him.

“Has this happened before?” Woozily you wondered why that was his first question of all things, closing your eyes as though to keep out the stabbing, brutal pain overtaking you.

“This morning,” you and Steve said in unison, though your response sounded much more strained. 

You opened your eyes slightly, seeing Bucky kneeled in front of you and Steve bending down to look at you just beside him.

Bucky had rolled his eyes at Steve before turning back to you.

“And you didn’t think to talk to the _one_ person in the very near vicinity who has had their mind wiped about it?” he questioned you, sounding quite soft. But quickly he gritted his teeth and turned towards Steve, throwing him a glance. Clearly, you weren’t in trouble for this oversight, but Steve certainly was.

“We just… I guess forgot,” Was his only response as a hand ran through his blonde hair, getting a snort from Bucky.

“Here, c’mon,” Bucky pulled you up, keeping you close to his side as he walked you towards a bench. You sat down and leaned your head back, holding the bridge of your nose and barely able to see the plain white ceiling above you.

“I’m going to get the Doctor,” you heard Steve say, only stopping at the wave of your hand toward where you heard his voice coming from.

“Please don’t, she’s not my personal caretaker,” you said. “Just tell her what happened and that I’m fine. Really.”

It wasn’t a lie exactly, as while you spoke you felt your headache disintegrating by the second just as fast as it came on. Steve nodded before heading out to the med bay.

“I got this too,” Bucky started, watching you as you watched the ceiling. “Blinding pain, nosebleeds… then flashes of memory. Memories they had wiped away.”

“So this was always a possibility, and you just didn’t want to tell me for whatever reason?”

You heard a sigh and felt him shift on the bench.

“Your mind wants to heal, to put back the pieces they scrambled," he explained. It came rather humbled, but if anyone had the right to be an expert on mind wipes, it was Bucky. "I just didn’t know if it happened to everyone or when. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or down, I guess.”

“Yeah, flashes of tortured memories I’d like to skip, for sure," you said, making light of the topic while swallowing a gush of blood dripping down your throat. "But I guess you can’t pick and choose, huh?”

“No,” he said, and the sound of it made you think he was smiling a little. “You can’t.”

“I don’t think I remember anything new though?” You searched your now only slightly throbbing head for anything new and even in the kind dazed state you found yourself in you came up blank.

“And you might not," You felt his shrug slide against your shoulder, wobbling you just a little. "We don’t have the playbook on this, just one soldier's patchy experience.”

“Well, I’ll still take it.”

* * *

There was nothing to be done to stop these episodes, so at Steve’s disapproval and Bucky’s insistence that the enemy was still out there, you carried on with your plan to train. Better than sitting and wondering when your next headache would split you down the middle again. Or when Hydra would show up to kidnap back in your ranks. Or if the love of your life actually was warming up to you again.

Yeah. You definitely needed the distraction.

Steve insisted on staying this time to keep an eye out on you, so you practiced fight two attackers at once this round. Steve was great at defensive skills, while Bucky had a flawless handle on the offensive side. You practiced avoidance and basic counter attacks, building on your session with Bucky from the day before.

There was less talking this time, but to the pleasure of your heart and heat on your skin, Bucky didn't seem as adverse in touching you. He made adjustments to stances, pivoting your hips or standing behind you, taking your arm and slowly demonstrating with your own body how you should punch or block or dodge before trying it on your own.

It was an hour or so into it when you start to feel a bit weird, beyond the flush you hid when Bucky was near. You pushed it out of your mind, wondering if you last fall to the blue mat coupled with your two episodes from earlier were messing with you. 

But it just continued to grow.

After bending down and sideswiping Steve- the latest maneuver you were practicing- you didn’t get up but stayed on the ground a moment, pose frozen. Steve held out his hand to help you up, but you didn’t take it.

They both waited but you were quite still, not acknowledging either man or saying a word.

“Y/N?” Bucky asked, coming up you confused and kneeling over to see if something was wrong.

Your eyes stayed to the blue mat, and you almost heard an audible crack. Like something inside of you snapped.

In a flash your hand shot out, grasping the kneeling Bucky’s neck in an impossibly tight grip. Eyes still down while the two stunned men stayed motionless in surprise, it was half a second of calculating before you sprung into action, time feeling like it was slowing down for you.

Your right knee was bent on the ground, with your left leg stretched out behind you. Lightning fast you swung your left leg out powerfully, clocking Steve in the face hard, sending him to the ground. Your leg kept moving, bending just as you hit Bucky square in the chest with your knee.

The force would have pushed him on his back, air exiting his lungs in a forceful puff, but your grip on his neck was too tight. You touched your foot down only enough to use the ground to propel it back up, one hand on his neck and the other now on his head, bring his head down to connect with your knee with a cracking sound.

As you pushed him forward and down, you used him as leverage to spring up over his falling shoulders and kick Steve square in the chest who was coming up behind you. You flipped over Bucky, rolling on your back and sliding expertly near the weights. In one fluid motion you grabbed one weight in each hand and swung yourself around, crouched to the floor and ready use them as some kind of weapon.

You watched the scene before you, for some reason not moving, panting as you went from zero to sixty in seconds.

Bucky was on all fours, blood dripping from his nose, and Steve was hunched over beside him, split lip oozing red too.

“The fuck…” was all Bucky spewed, voice strangled.

But something mentally pulled you back from the scene in front of you. 

It was slowly becoming clear that there was this nagging numb feeling within you. Through that whole episode you hadn’t really felt a thing. Your body had been numb to your movements and mind had been shut down to anything and everything. It was familiar, that calculated numbness.

You looked down to your hands, still gripping the weights, though you couldn’t really feel them. It was like they were far away, not at all attached to you or somehow belonging to someone else.

As you watched your hands, you noticed them start to shake, and you couldn’t pull your eyes away.

In a flood, everything hit you at once.

You shrieked out at the highest pitch scream you had ever made in your life, closed fist hitting your temple as blindingly hot pain struck you.

It felt like lava dripping through your brain and you were unable to respond to the sudden shock of the overwhelming torment of it. You collapsed back down, hands reaching out to brace you as you felt red hot blood trickle down your face and arm, spilling out from your nose.

Sudden hands grabbed your face on either side, but again, you couldn’t exactly feel it, not like what it normally felt like. You were still coated in that numb feeling, with everything but the gripping agony inside you feeling so distant.

Your face was met with Bucky’s, his angry pained look and voice replaced by shocked concern. Briefly, you wondered if it was his blood that was on you, but you knew it your gut that it was yours.

“Y/N!” Bucky called out, eyes searching yours as the liquid kept streaming down from your nose.

“What’s… happening?” you asked, wondering if your body was just going to float away. You could feel so very little externally right now, completely weightless besides the pain.

Before he could answer you shut your eyes tight, crying out in anguish again as your head literally felt like it was splitting in two. You could have sworn there was another audible cracking sound that rung through the room.

“You’re in shock,” Bucky answered, voice low and strained but wonderfully calm. “I think you’re having another episode. Your nose and ears are bleeding.”

“Where’s Henry?” you asked, his face coming in view again as you opened glazed red eyes to him.

“Uh, who?” That was Steve’s voice. Maybe he knew where Henry was?

“He must have just left,” you said, words sounding a little slurred even to your ears. “I hope I didn’t scare him off. He was so nice to me... I don't wanna hurt him...”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Just let her talk,” came Bucky’s voice. “What else do you remember, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to go to the… Where is the lab now? I thought we were going… Wait, don’t! _Stop_! Bucky!”

Shots of images and memories hit you one after the other, bits and pieces scattered over years of your life that had been blacked out.

_Three people strapped to dining room chairs, bodies split open._

_A little girl dead in the corner, her friends screaming and crying in their own vomit as you made them watch._

_Alone and abandoned in a decrepit warehouse, sobbing in silence._

_A man smiling down to you as he sawed through your bones._

_Trickling a thin stream of acid slowly up a screaming man’s leg._

“Oh, God, _Bucky_ …” you cried out gripping his shirt and trying your best to focus on him. “What have I done? How could I…”

You braced against him in this storm, waves of your horrors crashing over and pulling you under. They surrounded you, inescapable. Your lungs filled with it, drowning you in pain and memories and torment. 

You tried to anchor yourself in his eyes, focusing on the deep blue as the waves pummeled you. Everything swayed as your mind spilled out in the room around you, swirling and turning. But you stayed anchored to him, riding out this out until you just couldn’t.

You let the waters pull you down into their depths, waiting for the ground to come up and meet you. But it didn’t. Strong arms grasped you and held you, rocking against your dizziness. You felt the distant sway of his hold on you for some time.

When it ended, you were in Bucky’s arms, still and quiet. 

It took some time for you to realize you were not in the training room and it was also no longer day. Despite your training, the panic of a new location didn’t come. It was calm and quiet and familiar.  You were in Bucky’s room, in his bed again. He was holding you on his lap, blankets pulled over you and his arms wrapping you in close.

You simply breathed for some time, trying to align your breath with his. He made no movement beyond that, no sound to try and push you back to reality. He just waited, holding you until you were able to speak.

“Is it over?” you asked, not wanting the responsibility of that question to fall to you.

“Yeah, doll," he said softly in you ear. "It’s all over.” 

It might have been a lie but it was a welcome one.

“Does it always hurt this bad?” you whispered, rubbing your chest as you couldn’t quite reach down to the spot of your soul that ached.

It was like a piece of you had been put back in place, sharp and jagged. It felt like you were a little more whole, but it was raw and painful and bloody. It made your chest ache with a dull throb and your throat constrict. You weren’t sure if it was better or worse.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Mine came back slowly, in pieces. Maybe I was wiped too many times. Had too many layers to crack through.”

You made a noncommittal noise, trying to focus on the delicious warmth of his chest closing you in all around and not the pain within you.

* * *

Waking up was a tangle of blankets and limbs. You briefly wondered if there was a lingering to Bucky’s movements like he wanted to stay close to you, touching you again. Or maybe you just wanted there to be. Though you wanted him to stay, wrapping you up, you let him go.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here,” you said, a tight smile on your drawn face. Wearily you felt the need to address this, even if there was no desire too.

His back was to you at his dresser as he pulled out a shirt, hurriedly getting ready before slowing at your words.

“I didn’t mean to keep you. I’m sorry,” he said, devoid of most emotion.

You sighed to yourself. This distance seemed endless. You thought you'd been making headway, and in fact you knew you had. You both had been talking, touching each other, holding each other. But it was like sleeping in each other's arms was one step too fast. You could understand that if you hadn't done it a hundred times before.

“Please don’t be sorry," you said, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed though made no movements yet to leave. "You were helping me, comforting me. That is well within the realm of okay. And you don't have to worry, I’m not taking it for more than what it was.”

He kind of nodded, holding the shirt in his hands still, the fabric caught between his flesh and metal fingers.

How were you- someone who’s closest friend used to be a hacksaw with the only real company you kept fleeting because usually you _horrendously_ killed them- supposed to handle emotions? Like real, proper, _loving_ emotions. And with a guy who seemed too hung up on the horror of his past to actually welcome those feelings?

You weren’t a kid from the 50’s anymore. You weren’t a solider or executioner anymore either. You weren’t someone incapable of expressing yourself or standing up for yourself. But how the hell were you supposed to manage actually _loving_ someone? What did that even mean for you and him?

Yeah, you could have gone to Steve or Natasha or someone else and asked them about this all, to get an outside opinion. But taking advice on this from anyone else seemed like a waste of time; you weren’t typical and neither was he.

The fact was you were pretty fucking direct with him on your feelings when you confronted him that first time (you still felt a stab to your heart when you thought of your words and the icy expression on his face) but he hadn’t been. Either he _did_ feel something for you but maybe didn’t now because of his history with you being so raw. Or he didn’t ever really have feelings for you, you were just conveniently there and easy to be around. 

But you were done pining and avoiding this. The Team thought it best for a subtle approach, thinking time together would heal this and bring you back together like you had been. But you were thinking now maybe talking about it was the only way. And not talking about training or Hydra, but those feelings bubbling in you constantly.

God, you were a glutton for punishment sometimes, considering you were deciding to do this now after yesterdays episodes. All this was just so exhausting, and this whole conversation could potentially end up making this way, way worse though. But that more determined, head-on part of your personality was back and you were done beating around the bush. 

“Do you… How do you feel about me?” you said flat out, too drained to draw this out.

That got a surprised look from him as he fully turned around.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just your actions weren’t logically motivated here?” you said, motioning to the bed. “You probably took me to the doctors, then back here? Why not leave me there, or take me to my own bed? Or have Steve look after me? I mean you have been keeping me at arm's length lately. So I’m just trying to understand why, and I can think of one possible answer. So, I don't know… do you have feelings for me?”

“No,” he snapped reflexively before his eyebrows furrowed. “Well, yeah.”

“Okay," you said slowly. "That clears it right up.”

There was a pause and a palpable thickening of the air between you.

“It’s complicated,” he said, trying to avoid a direct answer.

“So just tell me.”

* * *

“It’s complicated,” he said, trying to keep back the flood that threatened to burst.

For days this raining, dark cloud didn’t just hang over him, but pushed him down farther and farther into black depths. 

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, this dreary, weighted agony making him sink deeper and deeper. Before it was only darkness, until you showed up in the little apartment in Bucharest and began lifting him out. Day by day you got through to him, leaving an impression on his heart and soul that would remain.

Though when he found out his role in your life- how everything was _his_ fault- he was instantly dragged back into that black pit. 

But even now you would look at him, would say something and for a moment the weight of it all was lifted. 

You hadn’t deserved that, you deserved better than him. And he thought as much, wallowing and brooding and agonizing for days on end. Reliving everything he read about you in your file. It was like _his_ hands had committed those atrocities now, adding them to his own. Like it was Bucky himself who had tortured and maimed and killed. Not you. You hadn’t fallen into this like he had. You were torn from your life by _him_. And the strangulating guilt of it was crushing.

How could you want or love someone like him, like you had declared when you finally spoke again? 

He tried to feign icy indifference, even anger, to hide his torment. Torment at your exhaustion, at the pain he caused you, at the fact that you were here with him at all, when you should have lived out the life you wanted, sweet and happy and young in the 50′s, not the one he ripped you away from.

It must have been a sick, twisted thing for you love him, and he told you as much. When your face crumpled in pain and rejection his heart about stopped. Oh god, it practically snapped his resolve to push you away, when all he wanted to do was erase everything and start over. Start over everything with you in his arms and his bed.

Bucky convinced himself that someone- _anyone_ \- would be better. He told Steve as much, time and time again when his friend had tried to lift him out of this, engage him in the world again. But the world didn’t have much meaning without you. And you deserved more than he could ever give you.

But his firm belief in that faltered when Natasha was speaking to you in the kitchen. Steve had suggested he put on a pot of coffee for him which would be done now, so Bucky ventured out, needing to stretch his legs after sleeping so long. It was a glorious sleep after you had stayed with him in the med bay, filled with visions of you while you held and soothed him. But he had woken up without you there and that aching pit in his soul hurting all the deeper.

But Bucky heard the Black Widow’s words to you. Saying you would rather be alone. That you would rather be in pain. That being without him _was_ painful. And it was one thing to insist you would be better with someone else, but to hear Natasha say it? To make suggestions of people, with Bucky’s mind instantly pulling up visions of you with someone else besides him? With you in someone else’s bed night after night, holding them close and not him? No one to hum the memories of pain away, or to be able to touch you, to keep you safe or keep him safe… It was too much. Bucky practically fumed, the only emotion other than grief and torment in days. And he ran away from it and from you.

He choked it down, his feelings for you, for your sake. But he couldn’t help his fury rising again to the surface first at Thor, who, like an idiot, had hurt you. God, Bucky practically ran over to try and snap his neck. But Steve’s words stopped him dead. Because you were untrained. Vulnerable for the first time probably since the 50’s, and able to have Hydra _trigger_ you again. Instinctively his protective side kicked into high gear and he checked every exit, every person for signs of a threat. Bucky spent all hours then (as it’s not like he was sleeping much at all, not without you with him) trying to protect you, to keep you safe.

And when Steve insisted everyone would be upset with him if he didn’t show to this Team dinner thing, he went, and could barely tear his eyes off of you. You laid down on the glass hallway that was suspended between the kitchen and living room, looking tired and flawless. From his corner of the room he watched you uninterrupted by anyone else, eyes roaming over every curve and edge of your body, Tony distracting you from noticing. Bucky took you in fully for the first time what felt like an eternity, drinking you in like he was parched.

Then you sang, and he melted. Your sweet, sad notes filled the room and Bucky’s chest with longing and aching for you. It was a song he had heard before and it took on a new meaning when you sang it. He couldn’t look away from you until you all sat down to eat, then tried to focus solely on the food, knowing if he looked at you his face would reveal everything emotion he was trying to hide.

But when you collapsed, blood spilling from you, he knew what this was and knew for your sake he couldn’t be distant anymore. He couldn’t bear to be, needing this or any excuse to be near you again. To smell and feel and touch you again. To keep you safe and feel safe again.

Watching the tears in your eyes form as memories of your Hydra missions came back to you, he watched, thinking you would break under the strain. That everything he forced you to endure would be too much. But it wasn’t a fluke that over the last seventy years you survived. Because your strength was not just skin deep, now or ever. You took in every painful memory, calling out names and threats and screams as you relived them, like it was happening all over. 

And you beat them. 

You took those horrific scenes you caused and what was done to you and _you didn’t break_. Not then. Not when you escaped Hydra, alone and broken. Not when you faced them down again. And not when they came back to haunt you, forcing you to relive the wretched life you had led.

He held you in his arms as this happened and you didn’t break. Your strength to withstand this was incomparable. No one understood better than Bucky what those years at Hydra were really like, to have one memory come back would be hard to bear, he knew that. But floods of them assaulting you? Most- actually _anyone else_ \- would crumble into insanity at them. But you embraced the pain, then steadied yourself, calmly waking in his arms- for he was not about to part with you- as if the trauma of it all hadn’t shaken you.

So now, when you asked if he had feelings for you, what was he supposed to say?

That he was in awe of your strength?

That your pain was his?

That his very soul ached when you weren’t close?

Or almost burst at its seams with joy when you were?

That to have feelings for you was terrifying and selfish?

But that to be with you was all he would ever truly want?

That the word _love_ didn’t even begin to encapsulate what he felt for you?

“So just tell me.”


	17. Bait

You weren’t sure he was ever going to speak.

This was a man who could walk into a room full of the worlds top assassins and take them down without hesitating. He could overtake enemies like a silent storm. He was trained to be unrelentingly confident, sure of every step, unable to doubt, unwilling to falter.

But your question had him fazed, breath pounding in his bare chest, eyes shining with an intensity directed solely at you. If your question hadn’t held you in place perched on the edge of the bed, those eyes would. And quite honestly you weren’t sure if that ferocity was good or bad. You couldn't even decide if _he_ thought they were good or bad. Bucky was on the edge of either spilling the truth or brushing you off again, wavering on the spot with which way to go as the question sealed his feet to the floor and fiery blue stare on you.

A second passed, then a few more, before the tension was too much and you both opened your mouth to speak at the time:

“I don’t—“

“Listen, I—“

Pausing awkwardly as you both started and stopped simultaneously, you swallowed down the bile that rose at his words before your brain could actually process them.

_"I don’t."_

But he hadn’t finished, you knew that. You took a slow breath in, cursing how out of sync you had been with him lately. It was uncomfortable to your bones, Bucky being the sole person in the world you could truly be at ease with. Holding back from each other had you both at odds.

He swallowed too, running a hand through his hair. He looked at some middle distance between you, shifting the focus of his intense gaze to soften the words he spoke next.

“Yeah,” he breathed, the words thin and quiet but ringing with truth. “I have feelings for you.”

Those words instantly turned from a sound to a waterfall, a flood poured over you that started from the top of your head and worked in a sweet, hazy heat down your body. In that heat you waited with bated breath, waiting for him to explain that it was love or like or hate or whatever it was.

But his mouth stayed shut as something was still happening behind those eyes. Again, you didn’t dare to guess what. The line of his jaw was sharp as he clenched it, the ocean blue of his eyes just as cutting. The bedhead he was sporting couldn't curtain his look from you, as you felt the weight of it silently pushing against you. 

You couldn’t hope it was actually _love_ he felt though. That would be too much... Wouldn’t it?

But whatever feelings were there he didn't elaborate, that intensity rolling off of him and weight shifting as he fought some silent, secret battle inside of himself. Regardless of his perhaps inability to explain, your pulse still raced, your stomach was on the floor, and your tongue held between your teeth.

 _It wasn’t a rejection._ _Not like last time,_ you thought stunned, both feeling the sweetest relief that he did feel something for you, but feeling hollow at not knowing what.

With nervous quickness you pushed yourself to stand, sinking into the thick carpet under your bare feet that threatened to swallow you whole or hold you there forever. Your pulse was only getting faster and the heat inside you turned from a pleasant bubbling to a full blistering boil. 

“Okay,” you started with measured slowness, waiting until you were sure your words would come out in somewhat of a normal tone. “When you’re ready to tell me what those uh, feelings are… I guess I'll be around.”

That was all you could muster. Those nondescript, noncommittal words that lacked passion and impatience, both of which filled you up to the hilt.

But you wouldn’t make to him say anything more; you had done enough insisting by even asking the question in the first place. You had said your piece about your own feelings before- _painfully_ clearly- and if that was all he was willing to give you in return, you couldn’t force anything else. Maybe the old Siren would have, but she wasn't exactly the lovey-dovey sort you had apparently (somehow) become.

It wasn’t reasonable that he feel the same as you exactly when you were feeling it. You tried to remind yourself of that thought, those that reasonable attitude was far from what you really wanted. Right now you wanted to throw yourself on him, wanted his skin on yours, his lips and body smothering you until you couldn’t breathe. You wanted _him_ , all of him, for the rest of your godforsaken life. You would take the best and the worst of James Buchanan Barnes and damn your soul to hell if that was what it took to be with him.

Before either of you could say anything else (or continue to stand in awkward silence), F.R.I.D.A.Y. pipped up.

“Steve’s asking for you, Y/N.”

You could probably explain to Steve the situation and he would happily leave you two alone, but you knew you had to get out of there soon, for your own sake. The tumultuous feelings churning inside you were begging to escape, but you strained against them. When you spoke it was breathy, laced with emotions, and barely audible.

“I should go,” Go before you didn’t have the will to leave him. Before you pushed the boundaries of this too far when he wasn’t ready or wanting.

The word “feelings” could mean a lot. And you would not fuck this up now.

Before he could protest or agree that you should leave or whatever else, you bolted, not stopping to pull on your shoes or so much as glance his way. The door slammed too hard as you pushed sweaty palms against it, and the moment you were out in the hall you were panting, body and heart reeling. You sprinted down the cold corridor floor barefoot, needing to get out some sort of this endless, burning energy before talking with Steve.

In the sanctuary of the elevator, you tried unsuccessfully to calm your body or mind or heart or _any_ thing down.

“Yeah, Steve,” you said, in the elevator with both hands up on the mirrored walls, skin taut and wide eyes staring back at you.

Immediately you wondered in a panic if Steve could tell, before shaking that thought out.

Fuck, this love thing was a sick game.

“Have a minute to come to the lab?” came his smooth voice through the intercom.

“Definitely,” you choked, trying to gulp in deep, silent breaths with your eyes screwed shut. “What’s going on?”

“It’s uh, not going to be what you expect, so we’ll just fill you in when you get here,” he said cryptically though you didn't have a mind to question it.

“Right, be there in twenty.”

You got off at your floor, not the lab, on autopilot. You needed to get dressed and luckily some unconscious part of your brain wouldn’t let you go down unshowered and shoeless in yesterdays days clothes. You ran down to your room, door crashing open then shut loudly as the familiar fresh laundry smell of your room met you. You ran your hand through your hair- just like Bucky did- before running into the shower, your mind still turning with short bursts of questions and realizations filling you.

Expectations. Steve had mentioned that and immediately it got you spiraling, hot water spraying down your skin.

What were you expecting, Bucky to declare his undying love for you?

No. Not exactly. But you couldn’t help but wonder if he _did_.

That would be expecting far too much.

Wasn’t him having feelings for you (whatever the hell that meant?) enough? You couldn’t expect him to be as head over fucking heels in love with you like you were with him.

Goddamnit, a painful sting started in your chest and was spreading rapidly.

You had said you loved him before. When he was cold and angry and hating himself.

But he was different now; softer, warmer, talking and touching again.

Wasn’t your declaration enough for him to say the same, if he really felt the same? You couldn’t answer that. You didn’t really know how. 

So doubt began to creep into your mind, spreading like a disease as you tried to wash yourself clean.

* * *

“We have an idea, but we want your approval for it first,” Nat started, Steve standing beside her. The lab was devoid of anyone else but the three of you, the high-tech machinery and state of the art screens and displays quiet and idle for the moment.

“What’s the play?” you asked, crossing your arms. If it involved Hydra as you assumed it might, you were more than game to hear this.

Reasonably though you would take any distraction at this point. Between the shower and the lab, you had decided to shut down this obsessive, childish love talk.

The fact was the ball was in his court. If Bucky wanted to go deeper and tell you exactly what he was feeling, he would. Whatever move there was to be made next would have to come from him. You were clear. He wasn’t. Until then you would ignore it- all of it- as much as you could. It was the only way to stay sane (as your brain was going all over the place) or keep from spiraling into doubt.

_But was it love?_

“Let’s wait for Tony… He would probably be able to explain it better,” Steve said, hesitating a little for some reason before taking another line of questioning. “Anything on fighting their brainwashing?"

Though you heard him, you weren’t looking at your blonde friend who stood just in front of you, mirroring your position as his muscled and grey-clad frame leaned back against a tabletop. Rather you were looking all around the room, taking in every detail and immediately forgetting it, nothing being relevant to commit to memory. It was a habit you didn’t realize was back. 

The daylight streaming in was filtered through the windows that were covered with a grey-ish tinted film, not letting any one spot be too blinding. Your eyes were drawn to the shadowy bits, them being few and far between. The clean and cleared touch-screen countertops held nothing, their vertical counterparts holding the same. The air was clean and filtered, moving silently through the vents that peppered the edges of the room where nondescript walls met plain white ceiling.

_Or maybe it was just “like”?_

You straightened up with a shrug, focusing back somewhat on your friends. Natasha looked like she already knew your answer, the smallest draw of sympathetic brows pulled gently together. Despite his friendly presence (and Natasha's steady, calming one), even while discussing serious things, not even Steve was a balm. It was a pain to your side that your oldest and dearest friend coudn't help.

In all honesty, you had hoped after the intensity of your last episode that everything would be back. Most of the beginning few decades were, but key pieces of the last couple were still missing in action. This, unfortunately and rather dangerously inconvenient, included the years spent countering their trigger for you.

“No,” you admitted quietly, before thinking through this. “I just don’t know, guys. Why wipe my mind at all if they were just going to wait this long to do something with me? They’d have to know that it was possible for my memory to come back. It’s making my skin crawl.”

Steve closed the distance to you, putting a hand on your elbow with a comforting smile on his lips. Natasha's smile was smaller but the same, though both of their encouragement was lost on you.

 _He was in Hydra just like me. I don’t think I even heard the word love there so how could I expect him to be able to express it? Would he_ ever _be able to?_

“Me too, Y/N. But we’ve got this," Steve said with a determined nod and smooth kind voice. "Don’t think we’ve been sitting in the wings waiting for them to strike again.”

Well, that was news. Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising though. Although you had been stuck in the Tower for what felt like forever, the Team wasn’t. And it wasn’t in them to either give up or idly let a member be under threat like this. But they definitely hadn't filled you in on their plans.

“Oh?” you started, this obviously piquing your interest as you assumed he intended. “What do you mean? Where ha—”

“Nope, enough mission talk!” Tony said, walking suddenly in with an energetic energy, flinging his hands around like he was dusting away cobwebs. “We are now entering party mode people.”

That also _definitely_ got your attention.

“You have to be joking,” you said flatly to him after a moment, looking from Tony to Steve, since he couldn’t possibly be serious here.

“Me? Joke? Hardly," Tony rebuffed. "I craft delicately decerning statements of comedic excellence, Y/N. Not jokes. And this is quite serious.”

He stood in the centre of the room, commanding it with his presence. On an off day it was still hard to ignore Tony or his antics.

_He said “feelings”. Stop putting your own wants and desires into what that means._

“Hello, we took down The Black?” he said in an obvious tone. “Murderous killers from the underbelly of the Earth? Maybe we’re not done scrubbing off the rest of the filth but I think that calls for a fucking party people. F.R.I.DA.Y., play the Avengers theme song.”

At that, a raucous rendition of “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” played and everyone jerked at the sudden sound assaulting their ears.

“No, no, not that one,” The music stopped. “Just play my favourite song.”

Next, the “I’m Too Sexy” song played, getting quite the snort from Nat. Tony glared at her a second while everyone tried to pull their faces into anything other than a smirk.

“Damn it, you’re killing me here, man,” The next song played- “We are Family”- and a broad smile took over Tony’s face.

“Family gathering- a full-blown party- happening _tonight_. Dress nicely, you ragamuffins,” he chided, starting to walk out before you could even try and counter this insane and frankly dangerous plan. “Don’t disappoint me. Or you’ll have to start paying rent.”

“You already used that threat this week!” you called out after him.

“If it ain’t broke!” he said, voice fading down the hall.

At Nat’s insistence, the music stopped and the three of you were left in a quiet room again. On your heels, you turned around to a slightly apologetic-looking Steve.

“Tonight?” you asked, stunned feeling turning to a little bit of outrage and a tiny amount of panic. “ _Tonight_?”

“This has been in the works for a few days. We’re not taking this lightly,” he said, trying not to sound too sheepish.

You just pointed to where Tony had just left. “That wasn’t taking it _lightly_?”

“I promise, he said he was going to clear it up," Natasha offered, falling flat. "That was uh, not the most helpful way to explain this.”

“Well, let me just beat that out of him before Hydra shows up later today and _literally_ beats me to the punch.”

* * *

Tony wasn’t stupid and he certainly cared about the Team, more so than most you would wager. Not that the others didn’t care per se, he just felt it deeper you thought. Took things more personally. Tony didn’t have too many people in his life- not close people anyways- so he was hardly going to play with your life. You didn’t have anyone besides the Team either, though you were far more conditioned to thrive alone. At least maybe before Bucky, anyway.

But this party idea was a little much, even for him.

“So, you’re baiting them?”

You had followed him to his personal workshop, mechanical and technological machines and equipment all state of the art and well beyond your understanding to guess what they all did as they lay in pieces on workbenches, countertops, and tables.

“Well, not exactly,” Tony typed something into his tablet before tapping it on seemingly nothing in the air.

Immediately a hologram pulled up in the centre of the room in front of you. It looked like a ball of light and squiggles, all in a luminous purple glow. They moved and flowed in the space with an intricate pattern you saw but couldn’t exactly predict. Again, this tech was too advanced for you, so you waited for him to continue.

“This is Jacosta, who’s been parading around as F.R.I.D.A.Y. since the whole Vier Gliedmaßen thing," he started explaining, shifting back behind a table covered in wires, tools, and pieces of half-assembled tech. "There was a line in Fri’s programming that was altered. Corrupted. They got their hands on my tech somehow and got in. But’s that my mission to solve, not yours.”

He looked at you with a tight smile at that. You knew he had been wracked with guilt since the day The Black showed up. And then when he berated you for killing them, using his cutting remarks as some sick test. Then when the comms went down at Vier Gliedmaßen, causing you to dive in headlong after Bucky and almost die.

So yeah, he had a little bit of a tough go lately.

You just hoped this party wasn’t going to add to that growing list…

“I don’t blame you for The Black or Hydra getting in,” you said, your heart too over-run with emotions to keep a grudge in there too anymore. You moved to stand on the opposite side of the table from him, palms placed on the countertop. “Tech or no, we relied on each other and we got out alive. Now we know more about what we’re dealing with.”

“Yeah, a suped-up Hydra," he said with a frustrated eye roll, flippantly slapping down the tablet on the counter. "Gone are the days of rudimentary one-man subs and goofy lasers, huh.”

“You’ll figure it out Tony,” you reassured quietly, seeing through his muted free-falling self-esteem. He put on a good show but he wasn’t as haughty as others might think. Not always. “Though I might just take a closer look at Jacosta sometime. Just in case.”

“Permission granted,” he said with a small smile, typing something on the tablet before the purple neon haze behind you flashed momentarily a bit brighter.

After those previous debacles, you doubted he would deny that request and was glad he didn't. The smallest sliver of comforted wedged its way into you, slightly more put at ease now that you could poke around the A.I.'s security. It was short lived though as the real reason you were here came back into view.

“So, for this supposed party, I’m _not_ the bait?” you questioned, eyeing the man carefully.

He shook his head, waving that suggestion off easily. The smell of grease wafted to you from his fingers as somehow in the minutes between him getting there and you showing up after him, he had delved into some tiny greasy machine.

“The party will be filled with CIA agents, FBI, Interpol… Good guys with guns and enough training between them to take down an army,” he assured.

“So this is a test," You leaned a hip against his workstation counter, actually trying to understand his angle here. "You’re going to see if Hydra tries anything.” 

“They’ve been dramatic, Y/N," he reasoned. "Theatrical. And they’ve been lying low for too long now. We’re going to see if they try and push their luck for a third time.”

You may be more whole than a few days ago but you weren’t back to your full force-of-nature self yet. You also could break out into another migraine episode at any moment. At any rate, you were still very untested against a real opponent even _if_ you had all your faculties. Any suggestion of Hydra coming after you left your skin cold and clammy. You remembered knowing the full extent of what they were willing to do and you understood exactly how unprepared you were to stop them.

Immediately that chilly thought made you want a certain soldier to warm you. Your body reacted to that idea, the minutes you had spent not thinking about him just making it worse now that you had.

Tony came around, putting both greasy hands on your shoulders.

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Y/N. It’ll be all hands on deck, looking out for _you_. We know what they want, and they think they have a way in to get close enough,” He nodded to the purple, swirling bubble that was Jacosta. “Not going to happen.”

You gave a nod and he took at that as reassurance enough. He knew you would have backed out if he had given you more warning, so there was not too much you could do now and you knew it. You leaving would just put you at more, or the same risk. At least here you had the whole Team.

Before you would have fully gone with this party plan- suggested some similar trap even- but now you were in defensive mode. That was a new place for you, having played offense for years. It was uncomfortable and felt like a dangerous place to be.

Again, Tony would never put you in harm’s way, he just didn’t always have the safest way of going about it. This still seemed dangerously like you were bait.

A call came in then for him, as the caterer already here and needed to be searched and cleared.

“Oh, one teeny favour?” he asked, walking backwards to the glass door exit. “Please tell your boy toy, side-piece Bucky? Really not looking to accrue any bruises before the party. Don’t think he’s going to love this plan.”

“Let’s leave that to the Boy Scout, huh?” Steve needed some sort of punishment for keeping this from you anyway.

“Steller plan. Let’s definitely do that.”

* * *

What seemed like seconds later, you were back at the lab. Today was like a long roller coaster ride and you were strapped in, unable to do much but sit back and let it happen. Right now felt like the part where you were slowly ascending up to the drop, anxiety and fear creeping in with every slow movement.

This whole thing was playing out like it was a mission, and the Team was acting as such. You were briefed by Steve, who had decided to take point on this from Tony, who was manning the actual party planning and guest vetting.

In a close circle were six members with arms crossed and faces set in hard lines: Steve, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Vision, and Bucky who was suited in his leather tactical gear already. You honestly wondered if he was actually going to the black-tie affair tonight in that.

He had slipped in just as Steve started, taking a stand next to you. You tried not to read into that (because who else would he stand with?) while keeping your pulse under control but you failed in both regards.

It was like you could feel your soul vibrate when he was near: it was pain and pleasure and left you wanting more. You had avoided him today so far, but couldn't now. Unconsciously you moved closer to him, shoulders relaxing at the entrance of the epitome of safety in your life, but muscles tensing at the guttural pain of the person you still couldn’t really call your own yet.

But you tried to focus back on the briefing, not him. Which all in all was quite difficult. You had done your best to avoid Bucky’s gaze, which mostly seemed fixed on you, much to the downfall of your nerves. Though you kept your eyes trained ahead on Steve, your thoughts were running rampant featuring nothing but Bucky. Never in your life had you paid so little attention to a mission briefing.

That fact alone was enough of a juxtaposition to who you were engrained to be that it made your head spin in a self-loathing anger.

Love was seriously a sick fucking game.

“The rest of the Team are back-up that will be floating around, being Wanda, Sam, Tony, and Banner," Steve said in his patented Captain America voice, hands resting on his belt buckle. "Rhodes and Hill are also aware of the situation and are here for any needed assistance. They are currently with Tony now, along with Wanda, getting the staff checked and in place.”

“Primary exits are covered, what about emergency exits for Y/N?” Nat asked.

“Private elevator, second split level, east side," Steve said, a neon blue holographic image of the floorplan emerging from the circular table everyone was standing around. "The north side and east side stairwell will also be kept clear. Vision will be emergency air support on the west.”

“In case I need to hurl myself off the balcony?” you questioned drily. You could feel Bucky move ever so slightly closer to you.

“Wherever you are, you will have an out," Steve said reassuringly, crossing his arms across his chest.

That wasn’t exactly a “no” to the free fall question, you noted, giving Steve quite the look.

“I will not fail you, Y/N,” Vision said, probably guessing your look was a kind of distrust of him.

“Thanks Vision, I know you won’t, really," you said, trying to sound sincere before it turned to more of a grimace. "I’m more so thinking about the few seconds between me jumping off a building and you catching me. But I think we can all agree that it would be a worst-case scenario.” You took a breath, turning back to Steve. “Okay, so who’s my point person?”

Clint snorted at that, getting a look from you.

“Who is your point person?” the marksman repeated, looked back between you and Bucky, sarcastic smile on his face. “Well, I think we all assumed Bucky would sign up for that position.”

“Well, he hasn’t exactly," you pointed out and in your peripherals looking to Bucky, his eyes narrowing slightly at Clint. "And it hasn’t been addressed in this briefing yet so I think it’s a fair question.” 

Everyone but you may have their arms crossed, but it seemed more for ease than anything else. That certainly excluded Bucky, whose crossed arms over his muscled chest just looked positively threatening now.

“Listen, I think it’s a given with you two kids, Y/N,” Clint said with a little more smugness than you cared for.

“Okay, we’re not attached to the hip here, Barton,” you rebuffed, now crossing your arms too, matching the threat of Bucky’s.

Why this made you feel… protective? exposed? you didn’t know. The topic of you and Bucky was now quite a personal one that you were _not_ ready to discuss with the Team.

“Please, you both practically threw yourselves together. You were almost inseparable from week one!" Clint chuckled. "I mean c’mon, you were _sleeping_ together by what, the second night?” 

A metal arm shot to Clint’s neck with a mechanical buzz as soon as he finished his question, lifting him off the ground with ease.

“I legit just… meant sleeping,” Clint wheezed, words barely making it out. “‘Cause… of the… nightmares.”

He gargled, feet dangling just off the ground with the strength of Bucky’s arm, clutching onto the metal. A firm and loud “Buck” from Steve urged Bucky enough to put the marksman down, however reluctantly. Clint was no real worse for wear, Bucky’s actions being more of a threat than anything.

It was your turn to look a little smug at him, trying not to rub it in too much. You weren’t going to pretend to yourself that Bucky defending you from impropriety didn’t raise your spirits slightly. You could practically hear the satisfied hum in your soul.

“And for the record, I would have snapped your neck, Clint. Not just given it a little squeeze,” you threatened with a little bit of a smile trying to creep out.

“No doubt, Y/N,” he wheezed dramatically. “I’ll keep that… in mind.”

He rubbed his throat and eyed Bucky who stood stock still, eyes frozen to Clint’s. His arm may have released Clint’s neck, but the threat was still in his eyes, icy and deadly. Again, you tried to straighten your face to keep from smiling.

“Meant to be,” You thought Clint whispered to Nat under his breath before the briefing continued as though uninterrupted.

* * *

Despite you apparently not being bait, this party was still used to bait Hydra, and ultimately they were still after you. 

So yeah. You were basically bait.

That reality sat in your stomach like a brick as you sat in the kitchen alone until Tony walked in. Everyone else was in full security and mission prep mode so you weren't exactly planning on seeing him until the party.

An uneaten bowl of cereal was in front of you, the almost neon colours of Thor’s favourite sugary breakfast melting into the milk.

“The party is in two hours, why are you here?” Tony questioned immediately upon walking in, shocked for some reason.

“How long you do think it takes to get ready?” you asked, absently stirring your spoon through the soggy little cereal shapes.

“Well, makeup takes at least an hour, trying on at least twelve outfits isn’t quick either. Then shoes. Have you not _done_ this before?”

Your face was pulled into a quizzically comical contortion, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Wait, are you talking about how long it takes _you_ to get ready?” 

“Listen, beauty is a construct and this architect isn’t going to let anything slide,” he commented, pointing a finger at you. “Now get going.”

“Listen Tony,” you sighed, hopping off the stool and stepping a little closer to him. “I don’t think I should go. Maybe I show up, say my hellos and just leave? Let you all actually have a night of fun for once in your life. Because I _know_ you have all been going at the enemy behind my back here. Steve let as much slip earlier. You all could probably use a night to unwind.”

“Counterpoint,” he said kindly. “If you leave, no one will have a good time because wherever you are, the Team would be there to look out for you. We can do _both_ , Y/N. Protect you and have fun tonight. And take down or otherwise disable Hydra. If they show. Besides, you cut quite the rug at the last shindig. I wouldn’t want you to miss a chance to party hard.”

You swallowed and let out your hundredth sigh of the day. The whole plan was built around you being at the party. If you left, you could potentially be vulnerable. This was a mission, after all. And you hadn’t died on one of those yet.

“Well, fine,” you conceded, turning in a huff to empty out the uneaten cereal. “But I’m pre-drinking, starting now.”

“Oh, dear sweet child, if you’re just starting now, you are hours behind.”

* * *

On a few occasions, you had to break out some outfits that ranged from nun-like to slutty as hell. Such was like in your line of work.

Steve always preferred to go into a situation suited up, and you did too certainly. But you had played roles at Hydra to get closer to targets, sometimes injecting yourself into their lives as a friend or lover as a type of psychological torture before the real games began. It was a second nature to slip into whatever role you needed to play, even if post-Hydra you enjoyed coming into your own personality again and being less of an infiltrator and more of a hammer instead.

Though it still was sometimes easier or safer to find out what you needed undercover, without busting down a door and throwing a shield.

One particular mission you went on was at a nightclub (with one of those archaic dress codes) with Steve posing as your date. Luckily he was _your_ back-up, as Steve wasn’t the best at going undercover, so all he had to do for the most part was be quiet and look pretty.

The night was rainy and the place was dark, with neon signs outside and in, lighting the interior in a hazy purple. Clouds of smoke and the smell of alcohol and seedy dealings filing every corner of the dank nightclub.

The dress you wore that night was black, short and strapless. It was a velvety little thing that looked almost matte, whatever the lighting. It meant you could blend into the shadows if need be, have full use of your legs, and didn’t have to worry about extra fabric getting in the way. It left you quite unprotected material-wise but honestly, in those days you were hardly ever really unprotected. Your skills and instincts were as thick as any armour.

Steve held your weapons and gloves in his inner jacket pocket, his arm draped around your shoulders in that grossly possessive way all night. It meant you would have easy access to the weapons if need be and keep up this facade of a showy couple.

The evening had gone off as planned, with the two of you sitting on those leather club couches for a while after spotting your target, Vlad Mikhailov, a Russian with potential ties to one Winter Soldier.

You picked this place and this night because it was the most easily accessible and held the least number of civilians. If you went in full force, you would risk “innocent” lives (because really, this place was not for anyone but hard drug dealers, traffickers, or gangsters). If Vlad or his men started shooting, a death count would be unavoidable. So instead of walking in, suited up and guns blazing, you went in unassuming and undercover.

The two of you got into place, blending into this dirty corner of the underworld, and the mission began. Steve started drinking heavily, no alcohol able to affect him in the slightest, but it kept up appearances. Periodically you would excuse yourself, stepping up to the sticky bar or going to the dingy bathroom down the dark hallway. You caught Mikhailov’s eye more and more through the night, always ending back up with an “inebriated” Steve, who would pull you in close, hands on you and drunk words spoken too loudly in your ear.

Most other women there (not that there were many) flocked to your target, knowing a power player when they saw it. But something about Steve having you made Mikhailov want you all the more. Classic chauvinist male.

So when you made another trip to the bathroom, smirking to him brazenly seductive, he couldn’t help himself but follow you. He cut you off down the deserted hall, hands on the wall on either side of your head while you looked at him. His eyes were hungry, wanting to make someone else’s woman his, by consent or otherwise.

Slowly you smiled, mischevious. Reaching a hand up along the wall to rest against the bathroom door frame, you extended your arm up, making your eyes wide and hungry too. The other hand looped into his belt before your fingers trailed up to his chest.

A glint of the light and soft whiz in the air was the only indication something had happened.

Steve had thrown a gun to you, your extended hand grabbing it with precise ease, barely moving at all. Instantly you pointed it down to the man’s head with a smile, the cool metal at his temple a tell-tale sign he was in trouble. His face dropped as your hand- having already found the gun in his jacket- held his weapon to his heart.

Once everything was wrapped up (including his cronies courtesy of Steve while you distracted Mikhailov), you held onto both guns in your now gloved hands. Your favourite weapon was those fingerless gloves, the gripping rubber on your palms and metal on your knuckles. Again, you loved being a hammer and particularly enjoyed hitting your way through obstacles, like underworld criminals.

So tonight for the party, you would wear the same. That little black dress and black gloves. Maybe you wouldn’t have any other weapons on you, but you knew the Team and Bucky were weapon enough. They, though more so _he_ , wouldn’t let another horror befall you tonight. You were determined just like the last time you wore this, that you'd win the night.

* * *

“Let’s hope tonight goes as smoothly as last time you wore that,” Steve remarked, giving you a side glance in the elevator.

Appropriately he did not wear the cheap, ill-cut suit he had worn on that mission. He looked rather dashing now, in a classic black suit, dark royal blue dress shirt, and narrow black tie. It was tailored and fit him like a glove, not hiding a single muscle he had.

“That’s the plan,” you said, eyes focused ahead and staring down your own reflection in the glossy elevator doors. “Though I’d feel better with a gun in each hand. Nothing relieves party tension like a bullet in your enemies temple.”

Steve looked at you a little sourly, clearly not enjoying your murderous humour.

“Our guns didn’t have any bullets, I recall," he remarked. "Just a blunt scare tactic.”

“Yeah, so I guess you are filling that role tonight?” you said sarcastically, a brief glance his way.

“Ha, ha,” he drily responded, pushing your arm good-naturedly with his elbow.

With a little ding sound, the elevator doors open, with your reflection sliding away in favour of a throng of people.

“Y/N is here,” Steve said quietly into his comm before you both stepped out of the secluded safety of the elevator.

His words were drowned out by the wall of loud music, happy chatter, sparkling laughter that hit you. The party was underway with crowds of people at the bar, the dance floor, and balcony, with everyone dressed to the nines. This room in the Tower was terribly large, with multiple levels around the main open area, all in sleek glass and shining chrome.

A champagne coupe or tumbler of gin along with a host of other cocktails was in the hand of every person there, sipping or smiling or otherwise enjoying themselves.

You and Steve were the last to enter, the entire mass of people being vetted and checked before your entrance. Tony gave you two the go-ahead to come up only once everything was safe and everyone in place.

The pair of you slipped in unnoticed to everyone but the Team, Steve subtly motioning with a discreet nod to everyone as you walked near them, though your eyes easily found the familiar faces in the crowd.

You both walked around the room, as per the plan, taking in the whole scene with every exit. Every so often you would stop, turning to each other as though in casual conversation, waiting for your team member to spot and acknowledge you, before moving on. After a few minutes, you both ended up back at the bar with Nat.

“How many drinks can I get at once?” you joked to the bartender as you hopped on a stool, crossing your legs.

He laughed with sparkling white teeth, not hearing a word you said as he shook a martini tumbler. The thumping loud music played on behind you.

“C’mon,” Steve said, leaning on the bar beside you, the blue of his shirt matching the blue in his eyes. “You enjoy parties, so why not have a little fun _without_ the excessive alcohol.”  

“I enjoy them _because_ of alcohol, and the people I’m with,” you said. “Intimate affairs, coupled with a fighting instinct that would rival the fiercest in history.”

“Wow, you have definitely started drinking already,” Nat commented as she took a seat beside you. She pushed a glass of clear liquid your way, the burning alcohol smell lost on you already.

Steve sent her a slightly disapproving look before walking down along the bar, meeting up with Thor. Steve was heading this up and though comms were open, everyone was required to personally check in. He wanted to know and see that eyes were constantly on you.

“Most definitely,” you agreed with her astute assumption, gulping down the glass in one swallow, shaking it in front of the bartender to get you a double.

Part of you did want to enjoy this. The alcohol was finally kicking in, enough to get you to loosen up slightly. It took _a lot_ of alcohol to affect you so you had taken Tony’s advice and gotten a leg up already, an empty bottle of whiskey back in your bedroom.

You took the next drink the bartender slid across the counter to you, the ice inside turning the crystal outside frosty with condensation. Turning around on your stool, you sat legs crossed in your short little dress, elbows resting back on the bar counter, drink in hand. You watched the crowd through piercing eyes and a raised eyebrow, scrutinizing everyone that walked passed you.

“How many people do you think I could take?” you questioned, taking a sip.

“Well, you can take me,” Sam said, walking up to you, eyes starting on your legs and moving up your body.

He was dressed to impress, cut suit and rich jeweled colours perfect for him. He also wore a crooked smile, looking at you appreciatively.

“I think she means in a _fight_ , Sam,” Nat said dryly.

“Listen, clearly the answer is still the same,” he said, mischevious smile growing.

“Now, am I trying to disable them, knock them unconscious, or kill them though?” you asked into your glass, still looking rather predatory. “Certainly makes a difference.”

You could feel but ignored the shaking head of the mutter redhead beside you.

“Are you _always_  so confidently aggressive when approaching fully drunk?” Nat asked.

* * *

When Bucky had finished his sweep of the levels above and below the party, he stepped off the elevator and into the loud crowd, immediately scanning for threats and for you.

“My sweep is done,” he said in the comm, unpleasant mood not exactly hidden.

“Thor, you’re up next,” came Steve’s voice in response.

The Asgardian acknowledged, and Bucky saw the large blonde god escape the crowd and leave through the opposing elevator, Steve confirming on the comms that Thor had left.

Bucky wished he could escape this goddamn party too, and with you.

His day was both spent making sure every security measure was followed completely, and also not snapping Tony Stark’s neck for this fucking insane idea. It had meant he was away from you for practically all of it, and that even now with the party well underway, he was just getting to you.

The flood of people moved like water across the space, the glinting crystal cups topped expensive alcohol shining like the stars just off the balcony. Men in cut suits and women in flowing trimmed dresses glided around each other in small and large groups. Some laughing in light conversation, other moving and swaying on the dance floor as the deep baseline hummed through every surface.

He ignored it all, eyeing searching through the vapid people that crowded the room to find you.

You weren’t hard to spot, Bucky finding you in moments. The bar was sporting the masses trying to nab a bartender for a drink, backs to Bucky. You on the other hand faced out, the shine in your eyes attracting Bucky like a moth to a flame.

You looked too fucking good for one person, his heart constricting and deep-seated heat flooding his stomach and making his skin tingle as he watched you from the other side of the expansive room. Immediately he noticed a completely predatory look in your eyes even from his distance, making him burn inside all the more. You had a drink in your hand, and by your look and how you held yourself, it wasn’t your first one of the night.

Bucky switched to a private comm, making his way through the party-goers enjoying their evening. Most people who saw him coming gave Bucky space, his dark eyes and known history parting the crowd for him as he made his way through.

“First this goddamn party and now Y/N is _drunk_?” Bucky spat quietly to Steve.

“It’ll be okay Buck," came the reply. "We’ve got this.”

“Like hell you do,” he muttered back.

Before you noticed him coming- and a sober you would have seen him from a mile away- you were led onto the dance floor by Sam, your hand in his, a crooked smile on your face. Bucky watched as you were lead further from him and into the arms of someone else.

Tonight was going to be a lot worse than he thought.

* * *

He watched from his spot at the bar, you singing and dancing and carefree with _Sam_ of all people. 

Admittedly, anyone would have made him jealous but that wasn’t the point. 

He could see why Hydra used you not just to torture, but to lure and seduce people. Not only because of your body but that enigmatic light in your eyes and mischief in your smile. Bucky could see your fire again- one that had dwindled slightly with the trauma and pain of the past weeks- come back to you.

He swallowed down another gulp of whiskey with his guilt at that thought of Hydra using you to seduce people. But fuck you looked good tonight. The burning alcohol was lost on him but the burning for you was still there and stronger than ever.

Steve was at his side, body turned to Bucky but eyes on you, with the occasional knowing and unseen look to his best friend beside him. It was clear one of the two super soldiers was brooding quite a lot more than the other, though both kept careful watch over you.

“You know, I could move things around and have you take point sooner,” Steve said slyly, the barest of glances to Bucky. 

Several Avengers had been assigned by Steve to take turns being the point person for you, with Bucky scheduled to be last and the longest, as it was pretty clear either alcohol or the allure of a party wasn’t going to be hard to resist. Neither did anything for him. Sam was up now, clearly enjoying himself as you swayed and moved with him, let loose under the pull of alcohol. 

Bucky wanted to turn away from you but couldn’t, his protective (and jealous) side not letting him look away from a moment. He watched the way the light made the cascades of your hair shine. The way your hips and legs moved rhythmically with the beat. The way the hem of your dress just barely stayed on this side of decent. The wild and slightly abandoned way you threw yourself into the music, the stress and pressure and pain of your life having the briefest of outlets. The curve of your lips, looking soft and warm and singing with the lyrics. Your eyes, beautiful and comforting and his now favourite colour and sight in this world.

“This was a dumb fucking idea,” Bucky said. The scowl on his lips persisted as he looked on, the heat of your very presence making him flush and constricting his breath. If he could just have you close, he'd be able to think again. To breath again. But instead he sat back, hating this party more by the second as thoughts of you assaulted his heart but the risk here twisting his mind.

They were putting you in unnecessary danger here. Again, they didn’t care about _you_ , just what you could do for them. They wanted Hydra and you were a way to get that done. Screw your safety, screw the fact that you couldn’t fully _defend_ yourself. No, let’s have them just throw you- _drunk_ you- into a potential snake pit and pray you don’t get bitten. Fucking goddamn idiots.

“Listen,” Steve said low to his friend, nodding over to you, dancing up a storm. “If this is bothering you, do something about it, Buck.”

Steve knew Bucky enough to guess why his mood was so sour, and it wasn’t just the party. Steve knew well enough that if Bucky didn’t think he could reasonably protect you, you wouldn’t be here. The moment Steve told Bucky, the brunette would have whisked you away to some hidden bunker in the middle of Europe somewhere, instead of giving him the coldest angriest look Steve ever had the dishonour of being on the receiving end of.

“I _did_ do something about it,” Bucky half mumbled as he took another useless sip of the amber liquid in his glass.

He was not referring to the scene in front of him, with you singing freely along with some upbeat, dancey pop song Bucky didn’t know but Sam did, laughing as the pair of your moved together on the dance floor.

“And?” Steve asked, sounding almost hopeful despite the reality of his grumbling friend and you across the way from him.

“And nothing," he shrugged. "She left before I could finish.”

Steve took a deep breath in, rubbing his forehead a moment before catching the eye of Natasha on the other side of the bar, who was well out of hearing distance. She didn't have be in the conversation to know enough about what was going on, just based on the grim and unwavering look Bucky was giving you. The two shared a silent shared moment, both shaking their heads and trying not to roll their eyes.

“Just dance with her, Buck.” Steve offered.

Bucky was silent for a moment before speaking into his glass, tone downturn. 

“I take point soon enough," Neither confirming or denying whether he'd do something about this whole situation or not.

Because you were having fun. Smiling, laughing, dancing. You knew every word to the song and Bucky could hear you from here, melody bursting out of you, happy and upbeat. For once in your miserable, tortured life you looked happy. Drunk, probably yeah. But happy.

He wasn’t going to interrupt that, even if it was killing him to watch you be that way with someone else and not _him_.

* * *

It was several songs later before you and Sam were done.

Sam looked to Steve who nodded before you left the dance floor, leaving Sam to dance with some else who had clearly caught his eye. His shift was done anyways, and Bucky was more than glad of it.

As you walked back up to the bar you finally noticed Bucky, those eyes he loved so much connecting with his. Your look went from distantly happy to one of delicately glowing and pure joy: your eyes shone brighter, smile widened, and pace quickened right to him. It was impossible for anyone watching not to notice how your expression changed because of Bucky. Every Avenger who had eyes on you saw it. Bucky noticed it but didn't click into place that it was directly because of _him_ , instead getting wrapped up in your gaze and the jolt down his spine it brought him.

Neither of you noticed as you stepped up to Bucky and leaned against the bar, that Steve stepped away and made his way over to a subtly smiling Natasha, leaving you two together.

“Have you been here this whole time?” you questioned, the light sheen of sweat on you beginning to cool the flush of heat on your skin.

Bucky expected you to sound loud, words jumbled, body out of balance with the effect of the booze in your system. But your words were soft, oozing quiet contentment, the smell of alcohol not as strong as Bucky would have thought.

“I came in just as you were leaving the bar to dance,” he said, the gruffness in his voice no longer found. Somehow his mood had markedly shifted just like yours had, though he didn’t realize until he spoke. 

Bucky leaned into you unconsciously as you leaned more into him. If anyone had asked why, Bucky would have blamed it on the people hovering near them, looking to get another drink (even though there was no one directly beside them). You maybe would have said it was to hear each other over the music (but both yours and his hearing was too good for that, and the music, though loud, was not unbearably so).

Either way, Bucky didn't think about the made-up reasons or the real reason, unconsciously getting as near to you as he could. You had been distant, avoiding him all day and the ache in him eased now. Your distance drove him almost as mad as this party had, and with a deep inhale that frustration dwindled.

“Yeah, the only way I was getting through this was slightly drunk,” you said, lips still softly upturned. “I’m not so much anymore, though I think I’ve had about my limit for one night.”

You waved by the bartender who was trying to get your attention, flashing that too white smile. As you politely shook your head in a "no thanks", Bucky almost smiled to himself, noting that you may need a drink to have a good time with Sam but didn’t for him.

“Can we talk, Bucky?” you asked softly as you looked to him.

You pleasant energy starting to buzz with a little bit of something else. Nervousness? Sadness? Fear?

He didn't have to guess what it was regarding.

“After this?” Bucky said, nodding out to the party in full swing without breaking eye contact with you.

This was a conversation he had no idea how to word earlier. He wanted to tell you all of it, explain everything that he couldn’t this morning at your sudden, shocking question. But every time he formed a sentence, it fell dismally short of how he felt, of what you deserved to hear. He wanted to say anything to you, desperately, but just couldn’t.

But he knew now how he wanted it to go. Simple. Direct. The truth. And not in front of so many people.

“Okay,” you whispered back to him.

Face to face and speaking to each other, he knew that this wouldn't lay unspoken. You weren't one to sit back for long or leave a stone unturned, even if you were apprehensive about it. The two of you knew this would come up again, and that it would get out in the open.

Your expression shifted down, clouded a moment, but ended up back at that look of easy, quiet contentment. For the moment, this mission was keeping you safe, and you could understand that mixing in emotions wouldn't help. You might be strong enough (if not maybe a bit nervous) to resist delving into this, but Bucky wasn't sure that his emotions wouldn't spill out like they had threatened to all night...

* * *

At the bar sitting side by side, you were turned towards each other, knees touching together absently. The pair of you were leaning in closely to hear each other's softly spoken words over the booming music and clinking glasses from the bar. The underlighting from the bar counter made both of your faces appear to be subtly glowing, adding an extra little soft glimmer to your faces.

You talked together about Tony and how crazy this was (clearly Bucky was not happy at all about this so you changed the subject fast), then pointed out who some of the different guests were, and on to lighter, easy topics. 

Bucky kept engaged, staying close and hanging on your every word, looking to your eyes, lips, or off in the crowd. This was still a mission after all, and you certainly didn’t mind the diligence in his frequent scans. It gave you an extra, secret moment to just look at him, watching the protective caring he displayed from your close spot right beside him. That familiar tingle pricked you every time and always left you wondering if he could see the goosebumps on your when he looked back to you. If he did, he stayed silent on it.

Members of the Team stood by, chatting or dancing or drinking, but always watching. They gave you both your space as the evening went on, happy to let the pair of you keep to yourselves as things carried on as smoothly as they started.

Nothing came up as time ticked on. No alarms, no red flags, no suspicious behaviour or glitchy tech. The evening was going swimmingly, and although the Team didn’t get complacent, the longer things went, the happier they all were. Really, the worst case of Hydra not showing up was that this was simply a party. You could all deal with that.

This was all fine- pleasant actually- but what you wanted to do was leave and talk with Bucky, privately. 

Earlier in the day you were all set to ignore the whole “feelings” thing or him or whatever. But when you saw him tonight, you snapped into a mood. Not pained or confused or conflicted. Just _happy_. You had been having fun dancing with Sam, but you didn’t put much stock in “fun” moments of your life necessarily. 

You cared about connection, about defense and safety, about being able to fight back, about strength and protecting people.

And when you saw Bucky, you saw all of that in him. Your days (or months or years) worth of emotional turbulence fell away, and it was replaced by a deep feeling of belonging. You decided to let that feeling reign over the others, quieting the doubts and shouts of your mind.

So as promised, you stayed and let the night unfold.

It was uncounted minutes or hours later when Clint came up to you, clad in an all black shirt and suit, putting an arm on your shoulder with a jostle.

“Hey kid, looking for a dance partner?” you said, face beaming with a warm smile.

You opened your mouth to respond, looking to Bucky before back to Clint. 

“Uh, not exactly," you stumbled, politely smiling back to him. "I think I’m danced out.”

“Listen, truth be told?" Clint said, leaning in close as though telling a secret. It made Bucky straighten up in his seat, looking with a hard expression at the man holding onto you. "Tony is making his way over, basically looking to sing his own praises at both the turnout here and lack of bloodshed. If you want to avoid _that_ forty-minute long conversation, I would hop on the dance floor where he can’t get you.”

“Tell him if I see him," Bucky said cooly. "I’ll snap his neck like I was going to snap yours.” 

“Alright,” you said quickly with eyes wide at the not-so-veiled threat. You shimmied out from under Clint and grabbed Bucky’s hand before he was inclined to make good on it. “Thanks for the head’s up Clint, we’ll just make our escape now.”

With quick steps, you led the way to the dance floor and away from your team member and relative safety of the bar. You hand was secure in Bucky's as you went before you felt a resistance pull you back. He had paused halfway through the crowd, hesitating on the last few steps but didn't break the connection with you.

You turned and moved back closer to him, looking up to him with an upturn to the side of your mouth. You saw his eyes linger there.

“It’s either this or you go away for life for killing Tony,” you said.

There was a pause as Bucky seemed to make up his mind. He clenched his teeth a little, but grasped your hand a little tighter and led the way to the dance floor himself with you in tow.

The moment his feet touched down on the dance floor with yours following a step behind, the loud booming music turned down. [A soft, jazzy song took its place](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F2k9N4caeCIJLOWwWwssrEM%3Fsi%3DiosuECSFSjaA0YUVQ9PWFQ&t=NGJkODI5MWFmZmRhMDk0ZTU4OTQ1YmQ1M2JkN2Q3ZWI1NmVhZTUxYixRSU9JV2NsOQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AZT_JIEV9gr9srCyvv57IAw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwhitewolfbumble.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F175686314458%2Fthe-fallout-part-fifteen-bucky-x-reader&m=1). The velvety melody worked magic on the crowd, partners turning to one another to hold each other close, swaying gently together in each other's embrace.

It was all you could do to keep from rolling your eyes, knowing somewhere Tony was not in fact after you, but instructing the DJ on the right moment to change to a slow song for you and Bucky to dance too.

There was a moment where you hesitated, wondering if you should say some excuse to go back, but you were surprised when Bucky actually didn’t. He held out his hand, the gesture and his eyes asking you for permission to dance.

You took it with a small smile, trying to keep the beat of your heart steady. It didn't work.

From the sidelines the Team watched. A few- including Clint, Steve, Nat, Bruce and Sam- had congregated at the bar for the best view of this. Each wondered in their own way- ranging from humourous to awkward- on the outcome, thinking the two of you dancing together would be a bit of a mess. 

One stoic soldier and one Hydra puppet, gliding on the dance floor together? It was bound to be at least a little bit of a disaster.

But immediately their faces melted into one of shock and surprise. Bucky placed a hand on your waist, pulling you closer to him. The two of you melted into each other in a moment, fitting and moving in perfect sync. The lines of your body matched the lines of his, like two pieces set in together perfectly. You swayed together, his feet on either side of yours, not a breath of air between you on the length your bodies.

He held his head down to your temple, chin resting on your cheek. You were turned into him, corner of your mouth pressed lightly into his jawline. Your hands glided up his arms to his shoulders, resting right in the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around you, one hand resting on your hip, one resting on your bare back just under your shoulder blades.

This intimate, easy stance was second nature to you both by now. Practicing together night after night in the Bucky’s bed, feeling the pulse and breath and body of one another. No one in the entire room or the entire world could have taken Bucky’s place with you, or yours with him, and have it feel the same.

“Wow, okay, that was not expected,” Sam exclaimed, wide eyes on the pair.

The Avengers turned to each other, sharing looks and sipping drinks, a few eyeing you and Bucky as you swayed easily on the dance floor. You both could feel it, unused to the stares of others when you were this close.

“They’re still watching us, aren’t they?” you asked Bucky, voice whispered in his ear, lips gently moving against his skin.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, vibrating through his chest and yours.

You weren’t really looking for an audience, and apparently neither was Bucky.

“Here,” he whispered before holding just slightly tighter.

He lead and moved you as you danced, guiding you softly through the throng of people. Soon enough you were on the other side of the swaying couples, blocked from view by any prying Team eyes by men in suits and women in flowing long dresses. They were too wrapped up in each other to care about you, and in that space you made a private, intimate bubble for just you and him.

“Thanks, doll,” you sighed, almost woozy with warmth and contentment.

You felt the pull of a smile form on his face, him noticing the pet name while you didn't. It was a moment before he made a response, another deep “mmhmm” sounding from him. You smiled in turn, letting him sway the two of you in time with the music.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” you commented, turning your head into him more, wondering if his lack of spoken response was from the same hazy feelings you had or because you were putting him to sleep.

“No chance of that, love,” he said, hushed in your ear, low and gravelly.

Maybe it was his voice or the music or how he said _love_ to you the made your body react. Your skin grew hot with a heat that spread out from your stomach, and your heart skipped a beat before racing in your chest. You doubted there was any way he could’ve missed it.

He turned to you, his cheek brushing against yours as he moved, eyes low and lips slightly parted. Your body tensed slightly and his wrapped firmer around you in response, not wanting any distance from you. 

His nose was bent down to yours, ever so slightly touching against your skin. He swallowed before breathing words you had ached to hear. Words that were simple. Words that didn't leave an ounce of doubt in you.

“I… ” he said simply, low and whispered. "I love you, Y/N."

His hand was already crawling up your skin to the base of your neck, tangling gently in your hair. His lips slowly turned into yours, pressing in and taking you over. His breath held in his chest for a moment before exhaling in pleasure, body giving in and turning from still to longing.

You didn’t want to pull away, feeling him move his lips wet and hungry against yours. It wasn’t urgent or wild; it was long and fevered. Bucky took his time, pulling you in as deep into his body and mouth as possible, a slow need uncoiling within you both. 

You let him move you and drink you in, desperate to have him finally pursue you. Your heart had been exposed to him and he had denied you. Now he was begging and stating that he wanted you just as much, and was proving it with every intoxicating draw from your lips. In every moment he was trying to consume your breath and soul, wanting it desperately for himself.

When he pulled away you couldn’t move, only blinking slowly, your eyelashes draping leisurely against his cheek. You couldn’t tell he was scanning for any threats, the relapse in focus having him make up for it before focusing back on your fluttering heartbeat against his, you breath dripping down his neck.

You weren't sure how long you danced together like that. 

You didn’t hear if the music picked up, or know if anyone was watching you. You let your guard down with Bucky completely, relying on him to hold you up in his arms, to watch out for you. He muttered into his comm periodically but you didn’t really hear it, focusing on his heartbeat instead. On the belonging you felt, wrapped up tightly and securely in his arms. On the lingering feverish kiss that seared your lips from here on.

You had very few moments in your life that were truly happy. This here was the most content, most calm, most complete you had felt. You were lazily drinking in every moment, not caring for the first time in your life to think about protecting yourself or brace for a fight. Because in that moment he had you. Fully and completely he had every piece of you.

You didn’t have to be strong or hard, because with him you were _safe_. Nothing in your life was completely safe, even here in the Tower and on the Team, and for once you just let it be. You weren’t on a Hydra mission internally screaming as you committed heinous acts, you weren’t strapped to a table having torturous acts forced on you. You weren’t this exposed nerve anymore.

So yes, you let yourself drink in this moment. Drink in his heat, his love, his being.

With the gentle urging of his fingers Bucky turned your chin up to look at him, your heavy-lidded eyes still blinking slow, heavy with contentment. He moved his finger across your cheek, running them through your hair. His smile was completely without fear or pain or his past. He was looking at you and only seeing you, not his role in your history.

“It’s time to go, love,” he whispered quietly.

You stood with him on the dance floor, waiting before you said anything. You took in everything: the love in his eyes, the way his hair fell around his face, the smile on his lips, his heart beating pounding to yours...

You froze this moment in your memory, knowing that even if Hydra got you again, they would never be able to erase this moment from your mind, your love for him in your heart, or his imprint on your soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said a slow burn, but finally! I know this one was a bit wordy but still. Hope you enjoyed the bit of fluff here, and didn't mind the classic "Tony throws a party" trope. Thanks for reading darlings 💕


	18. Countdown

The evening was about over but the feelings it sprung up in you were overwhelming. It had been spent connecting with him, dancing to slow music with him, his body on yours, his words of love in your ears, his kiss on your lips…

You weren’t sure if it was his metal arm or the elevator or your soul, but you were positively buzzing. Adrenalin was mixing in with the foggy spell he had over you, creating a conflicting burst of energy and hazy mist that filled your brain. The plan he had whispered to you while leaving the dancefloor got lost in that cloudy swirl of emotion, Bucky leading the way to your floor and your room, before planning on taking you back to the sanctuary of his own.

Riding the mirrored elevator up higher and higher to your floor now, Bucky was standing beside you and you assumed was probably still on high alert. The party was finished and guests had all left by now, and all in all things seemed to be in the clear. But in that moment too bound in by your little black dress and haze of emotions, you didn’t know and couldn’t tell what he was doing, feeling too odd yourself to take notice. 

If your mind had been clear, you would have known how unusual that was for you. Keeping track of one person in one small empty room was hardly much of a challenge, but you found your body and mind unable to rise to it.

You rolled your shoulders, placing both of your hands up on the wall to support yourself, pressing fingerprints into the cool surface. 

Man, you were lightheaded. It was unbelievable how intense it was.

“Y/N?” Bucky asked, cool metal hand on the small of your back with a comforting, steady pressure. You weren’t sure if it was him, the cold of his hand, or how disoriented you were feeling that made your body tingle.

“You just have me weak in the knees is all,” you joked a little gaspy, legs suddenly feeling a bit wobbly. You locked your arms straight, trying to grip onto the smooth shiny surface that gave little support.

Quicker than you could really respond to it, your vision was suddenly blurry, eyelids blinking exaggeratingly in reflex. You found yourself, in your lightheaded haze, not able actually see Bucky in his dark tailored suit or your bright surroundings at all. It wasn’t like you were blind, but that you just couldn’t focus enough on anything to take it in.  Your brain just wasn’t able to process anything except the nauseating waves that rolled over you and drowned your head in a soggy mush. 

You tried to steady yourself but you felt your arms weaken as the elevator started swaying uncontrollably, knocking you around a bit.

_... Wait, they didn’t move side to side though, did they?_

“Y/N, look at me,” his voice came, this time much more serious, arm snaking around your waist in support.

You tried to look up at where his voice was coming from as your side was pressed against his warm frame but you only saw blurs of distant colours, eyes flitting around too fast to process his face. You could hear your breathing speed up, pulse beginning to race and rise to the surface of your skin like it wanted to break free.

“I’m alright, just…" you paused, swallowing the feeling rising in your throat you couldn't quite place. "Man, what did you do to me there?”

This felt so like and so unlike what you had felt on the dancefloor in his arms. Instead of pleasantly slipping into the warm bubble of intimacy, it was increased tenfold and in the wrong direction, like you were shoved into a heated and disorienting shroud, covering you and pulling you in deeper against your will.

Was this what falling in love felt like? If this was the fallout of love, you were decidedly not prepared for it. Somehow this didn't feel right at all.

Your knees suddenly were ice cold and a vice grip was around your waist, holding you up. You threw your head back, hitting Bucky in the chest. His arms were around you and realized you were somehow on the floor, Bucky catching you before you face-planted into the wall. Your feet were a tangle below you, one heel stabbing into your inner knee and the other awkwardly sprawled out behind you.

“How did you end up there?” you heard yourself say to him, but it sounded… almost gargled? Like you were trying to speak while brushing your teeth. Something was confusing here. You strangely just felt so _distant_ from yourself, that feeling of your heels and feet you felt so sharply a second ago fast beginning to fall away.

You looked up to him, blinking wildly to try and break through the haze, but you couldn’t.

He moved a hand to hold your face up and it slid over your skin, almost like it was wet? You half wondered why, but it was lost in the fuzziness swarming you and pulling you under.

Then it began to happen. Slowly, smoothly, you lost control of your body, muscles relaxing without your direction in his arms, hovering there above the floor. Really, you didn’t feel all too concerned, your vision fading in and out of swirls of white and grey to brief moments of black.

“Steve, med bay now!” Bucky said, pulling you up and in his arms. His voice was like a shout in a cave, distant and echoing inside your mind. He felt so close, pressed against you and warmly holding you in, but sounded so far away.

For a brief moment before the elevator doors opened, your eyes blinked away the cobwebs covering them and you saw someone, held in Bucky’s arms.

It was you.

He was carrying you bridal style, wide blue eyes watching you in fury and pain. You were laying against him limply, your arm flopped out on the side looking lifeless, head lulled to the side. You were covered in four different colours: the little black dress that clothed too little of your body, the tone of your skin, the colour hair, and thick bright red blood.

The blood was pouring from your mouth, nose, ears, and eyes, dribbling down your face and neck. It soaked your dress and flowed down your arms in a steady red stream, pooling around Bucky’s feet and reflected in the mirrored walls. A bloody handprint was on your thigh, courtesy of Bucky when he had touched your face before picking you up.

You took in a deep, sputtering breath before lightheadedness or blood or whatever was causing this sunk your eyesight into darkness again.

With a ding of elevator doors, Bucky was off running full speed.

* * *

You laid on the bed, white sterile sheets covering you, white sterile floor below you, white sterile ceiling above. Everything in here was bright and clean, much unlike your life.

Dried blood covered your stretched-feeling skin and had pooled thickly in your stomach and lungs. You hated that wet, heavy feeling as you tried to breathe, every single breath coming wheezing and strained. Breathing too deeply made it feel like you were drowning, so your shallow breaths came often. Your eyes felt tacky and dry, with every blink in the bright room a struggle.

This was wrong. This was all _so_ wrong.

The doctor’s words rung in your head still, and you knew she was right. Everyone did, not a word of argument or rebuttal at her assessment. Because Hydra _did_ attack tonight, just not in the way anyone could have predicted.

_"There's was nothing we can do_."

The reasoning was simple and the outcome a dirty complicated madness.

Whatever modifications Hydra had done to the machine used to wipe your mind was killing you.

It had started small, a simple cascade of neurons firing and failing. Then the headaches and nosebleeds to signall it taking hold, though still too minutely to see under any scan. Now it was clear. The degradation and disintegration of your mind was imminent and exponential, and no amount of reprinting by the Cradle could fix it fast enough.

Whatever happened- whatever Hydra really did to you- it wasn’t simply to wipe your mind. It was to break you down, right to the end of your life.

And there was only one fix in the world that could stop that. One single entity that could right this. The very people that did this to you in the first place. Hydra had orchestrated it just like this, had wanted to bring you right up to this point and they had succeeded.

Now you were left here, with Steve at the end of the bed and Bucky beside you, the rest of the team out in the hallway, hidden from view. Everyone was thinking the same thing, silent and worried. But you understood Hydra. You understood the magnitude of what this _really_ was.

You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to speak the words and make them true, but you had too. Because this was just about killing you. It never really had been with them.

Bucky watched you, breath still heaving since you dropped to the floor in the elevator, body and face lined with worry and anger and helplessness. Even if you couldn't see his face you knew what he was feeling as he radiated cold fury and hot anger and suffocating fear. Steve looked no better, though he tried for your sake.

Both were still in their suits, ties ripped away and suit jackets abandoned with sleeves rolled up. The only difference was Bucky's shirt had dark blood like a Rorschach test splattered and blending into his dark shirt. It had dried on his hands and up his arms, a streak on his jaw and down his neck from where your head rested, practically lifeless as he rushed you here with rage and tears in his eyes.

“If I go to find them to fix this… they’ll show up,” you started, words coming in short bursts like your breath while the burning of building tears added to the burning feeling in your eyes. God, you didn’t want to leave. _Anything_ but that. But if you stayed, if Hydra didn’t tell you how to undo what they did, you would die. “But if I do that... If I go to them and we don’t take them down… they’ll take me instead.”

You tried unsuccessfully to hold back your tears, but they rolled down the side of your face, washing clear streaks through the dried blood. You turned to Bucky, speaking to him as though you were alone in the world, voice cracking under the strain of your emotions, as thin and pained as you felt. 

“And we’ll never be together," You felt your lip wobble as your strength did under this looming threat, knowing exactly what would happen to you if Hydra won. "They will _never_ let me go, Bucky.”

“Then you won’t go _anywhere_ near them,” Bucky said. His gravelly voice rolled between pain and control, shaking hands gripping your arm and hand. The blue in his eyes wasn’t calm or still like quiet waters; it crashed and rolled like a hurricane, wild and clutching desperately for stability that wouldn’t come.

You shook your head, eyes shut tight for a moment. It brought with it another stream of tears rolling down your cheek.

“Then I’ll die here on this table,” you wheezed, shaking your head as you looked to the ceiling. “In days or weeks or months. They knew this would happen. They _knew it_. And I know that if I don’t go back, if we don’t try to find them… that’ll be it.”

They wanted to cause you pain and they were succeeding.

The only chance you had was to go back and face them, to get them to fix it. Make them tell you how or make them undo it.

And that was why you were able to have these last days uninterrupted by Hydra. Why you could go to a party and not end up with half the guest list dead at their hands trying to reach you. Because they wanted _you_ to come to _them_. They wanted your submission. To come running back into their arms after breaking free and betraying them all those years ago.

You wouldn’t be able to live your life anymore. To stay with your friends. To help people suffering at the hand of the enemies that enslaved you. To be with _Bucky_ , in love and happy. 

No.

You would have to go crawling back to them, into some well-devised trap. And they would lock you up so deep you would never see the light of day again. The horrors that they made you endure would be increased tenfold. They would beat you and break you and wear you down until nothing of your soul remained.

“They won’t win,” Steve said, full of emotion and eyes fist clenched in determination. The taunt skin on his knuckles shone as he gripped the metal footboard at the end of bed, it squeaking out a quiet protest. “We won’t let them.”

You swallowed, downing the metallic taste of blood. You looked to Bucky, your eyes unabashedly displaying fear, tears creating a delicate shine to your sadness. 

You would fight back. Of course you would. You would claw and kill and die to the last fucking man before sitting back and letting Hydra control your life again. But you knew what this would mean. Whatever cost they would demand would be great.

Bucky reacted instantly to your sadness and fear, putting his hands on either side of your face, wiping the falling tears away with his thumbs and tangling his fingers in your hair. 

“They won’t win,” His voice was not like Steve’s. It was urgent, hoarse, and deadly and his eyes matched. “ _I won’t let them_.”

* * *

You and Bucky were pulled back slightly in a darker corner of the lab while the others talked and debating and dealt with the shock of this in their own mission-focused way. Everyone was collaborating and searching and scanning and bouncing ideas off of each other at any given moment. The blinds in the lab were turned down leaving shadows competing with light from screens and monitors and holograms, the space becoming the base of operations for this. Team members were running in and out every few minutes it seemed, a flash of black or red or blue with tablets or papers in hand and a firm line to their lips.

The plan was to wait as long as you could, but the fact was you had no idea when the next episode would come up and potentially kill you on the spot. The degradation was a give away to the doctor, but there just was no way to put a time on how long you had now. You went over those words over and over in the back of your mind as every minute ticked by, while the rest of your conscious mind was swarming around Hydra. Both did nothing but weigh you down.

“Whatever they decide to do,” you said low and quiet, leaning in and speaking only to Bucky as the flurry of activity continued just steps in front of you. “Hydra will have already planned for it. Regardless of where we go, we’re walking into a trap.”

He nodded quietly, watching the crowd as you did, understanding more than you could hope to explain. It wasn't to sound defeatist or to give up trying, but it was just the reality of who you once were forced to work for. They were slimey, slippery, and brutal. But above all calculating. 

The Team might not understand though. They might think they could create a plan solid enough to get the upper hand one way or the other. 

But it was never going to work. 

You went after Hydra for years before they started going after you. They had a _long_ time to think this one out and adjust to whatever variable you threw their way as needed.

Gerault was a fucking bastard and you knew this pain was devised by him. He would have a backup plan for everything. Ultimately he had started as a handler of yours- just as Bucky had been at one brief time near the beginning- before clearly moving up through the ranks. He knew you and knew you well. There wouldn’t be an escape from this.

“Our only saving grace is they don’t have you anymore,” you said, plastering a tight smile on your grim face and trying to be positive, as it was true. 

Hydra was missing two keys players in making this plan- and this world- as horrifying as it could have been. Without the Winter Solider and the Siren, Hydra would be less of a threat at least. However, the odds still remained slim for you.

“They don’t have _us,_ ” he corrected kindly, playing into your positivity a little. He was trying at least. “And they won’t get us.”

Agitatedly you flexed your fingers in your gloves, still feeling your blood in them though it had been washed out (repeatedly). You and everyone else had been in your full tactical gear since your episode. It had only been all of eight hours since the end of the party, but whatever little sleep there was to be had was long over for everyone with the urgency and anxiety of a ticking time bomb creeping into everyone’s bones.

Despite you knowing Hydra wanted you to come to them, everyone had been on high alert, running around and researching and trying to hunt for an edge. Everyone was feeling the strain and needed some relief, to feel like they were doing something helpful. But it alluded you all.

Thor barely smiled. Bruce couldn’t focus on the work in front of him. Tony broke more machines than he fixed in a vain effort to concentrate on the problem. Steve was harder on everyone. Vision was talking more. Wanda was talking less. Nat was… Well, you supposed she was internalizing everything since her collected exterior was still intact. At least she was steady under a crisis.

Bucky never left your side. He often had his hand hovering on your back or arm holding your own or fingers entwined with yours. No one could get too close to you, and you wouldn’t let anyone get too close to him. It was like you two were closing ranks, bracing for a threat to get between you.

In the brief few hours of exhaustion-induced sleep in the med bay, Bucky had sat up by your head, arm wrapped over you with your face and nose grinding into his hip and thigh. The two of you had faded into a light and uneasy sleep together that was fleeting.

When you woke, he took you to your room, waiting on your bed as you showered the blood and pain off of your body as best you could. But again you flexed your fingers and rolled your shoulders, still feeling the crusty dirty feeling of it over you. The feeling of Hydra all over you.

Here in the lab you stepped up to the main circle again having sat back too much this morning already, Bucky following you as you listened in to their conversation.

Again, it was around how who should play what role, what tactical play was best, and more of the like. And you were sick of this. Everyone was spinning their wheels because of their own emotions, not because of the facts of the situation. That alone was enough to drive you mad. This was emotional enough, but everyone had to remove that from the equation if you had a chance.

“You have to understand if we _all go,_ we will get nowhere,” you said for the hundredth time to the tense group, speaking above the cacophony that immediately silenced. “They want me alone. They won’t make a move against me with the entire Avengers Team essentially creating a big group hug around me.”

“You can’t suggest meeting them by _yourself_ ,” Tony said pointedly. He looked haggard but his energy levels were the same, probably attributed to the multiple coffee cups on the lab counter.

“No,” you shook your head exasperated. “I’m not. But listen, if Vision walks in, we get nothing. If Thor comes in, we get nothing. They know us- all of us- and if anyone gets too close that could potentially overpower them? They _will_ pull away. And then I’m screwed here, guys.”

“But they want to kidnap you,” Nat reasoned. “They won’t risk you dying. They’ll have to engage eventually. Then we take them in.”

“They want to torture me,” you snapped. “They’ll do that to my corpse if that’s what it takes.”

You took a slow deep breath trying to come to terms with the fact that to live your life you would have to risk it. Simple. Just not easy.

The Team would just have to understand that too. To go along with it and do this on your terms. Well, essentially Hydra’s terms. At most you could see them allowing a few non-super powered members, like yourself, Nat, Clint, Sam… 

Though you knew you could probably talk the whole Team down from coming, it was a certainty that you would _not_ be able to convince Steve or Bucky to stay behind. Neither would let you go without them there to back you up. And at best your feelings were mixed on it.

The chatter of the Team continued as new strategies were drawn up and new arguments were raised butt you blocked it out, stomach queasy and body still tense at the thought.

“Talk with me a minute,” you said hushed to Bucky, not waiting for a response as you slipping through the room and left the lab.

Out in the deserted hallway, you took another deep breath, wanting it to clear your mind but it rather didn’t. Your mind was a scrambled mess anyway so it was rather pointless.

You just hated complications. Really, you had always been too mission minded (or afraid of physical repercussions of failing, courtesy of Hydra back in the day) to stand complications in matters like this.

And from the moment you opened your eyes this morning with Bucky waking immediately beside you, holding you close and refusing to let go, you knew.

He was a complication here.

A _big_ one.

Hand on your hip and fingers pinching the bridge of your nose for a second, you stood back from him, needing space to be able to speak your words between the two of you.

“Have you…” God. How were you going to put this in a way that he would actually listen too? You didn't bother answering that question before continuing, choosing to just rip the bandaid off as it were. “Have you thought of the possibility of you _not_ coming with me when we go find them?”

You had pictured him rolling his eyes or getting furious or maybe laughing at the thought. But he just stood there across from you coolly, watching you as intently as you watched him.

“It’s an option,” Was all he said. The words were reasonable, the tone wasn’t. 

“Just hear me out,” you started as he crossed his arms. Not a great sign here. “It was _always_ a big fucking risk taking you to a Hydra base. We all knew it, we all allowed it, and despite the three of us almost dying, my mind getting royally fucked, and you killing two people, it all ended up fine.”

There was that eye roll from him. But you weren’t exactly lying as it had ended up fine... for him. You were a different story at the moment.

“This is different, Bucky.” 

“This happens to be exactly the same,” he countered, posture and tone immovable.

With a battle on the horizon you really didn’t want another one now, but this had to be at least said if it couldn’t be won.

“You know they have played _us_ against me before. What makes you think they won’t this time?" you asked, shaking your head as though to block out the pain of the innumerable ways Hydra could hurt you through Bucky. "I can’t have that. I _won’t_ have that on my conscience.”

Of all the ways that this could go wrong, you knew the worst thing that could happen. And there was no reason why Hydra wouldn’t cross that line.

They could trigger you. You could go from standing beside Bucky to be trying to kill him and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Your _conscience_?” he questioned, stepping closer with eyes slightly narrowed and jaw clenched. “And how is your conscious more important than my being there to help _protect_ you? There is nothing they can throw at me that I don’t know now. Everything is out in the open now. And I know them, Y/N. Intimately. Just like you. I plan on using that to keep you safe and out of their goddamn hands.”

“Yes, my conscience.” you sighed, ignoring the last part of his words completely. “Bucky, you know this as well as I do, that when they trigger me, I know in the moment  _exactly_ what I’m doing. I can see it and feel it and smell it and taste it. _I’m_ the one holding the bloody knife, the severed head, the dead body. I am there the whole time, mentally screaming and unable to stop myself. If they… if they control me again, and I go after _you_?”

“You won’t lay a finger on me,” he said, chin tilting up ever so slightly, taking another step closer so his toes brushed yours.

“Fuck off," you scoffed at him. "Yes, I would. You know when we spar? I can beat you or stay on even footing with you because I have _fought_ you a thousand times before. You were my first handler, Bucky. I vividly remember all of that part of my life. You beat me down so many times I learned how to fight back. I learned your way of moving, way of fighting. Out of survival. With Hydra under control and giving me free reign, you better understand that I _would_ take you down.”

“It won’t come to that, I’ll make sure of it. We all will. Steve and I we—”

“You can’t promise that so don’t, Barnes,” you said, voice higher with tension spilling over. “And have you thought about the reverse? If they trigger _you_? What about if they get both of us and we start fighting or killing the rest of the Team? We would _slaughter them_ , Bucky. I can’t do that. I won’t!”

His arms were around you as fast as the tears came to your eyes. The familiar and comforting feel of his hard muscles and soft warmth holding you closer couldn't break through the cold fear you had under your skin.

This was impossible. Hydra after you now, Bucky loving you, death at your doorstep. It was all just too much to wrap your mind around. You tried and you kept trying but this was something you just didn’t see a clean way out of and it threatened to break your heart.

“I calculate the risks of a fight, Bucky,” you sputtered into his chest, weary and desperate. “And this will _not_ end in our favour. Something will go wrong, I just _know_ it.”

You wanted him with you. Of course you did. You had a physical, pained reaction just thinking about walking in Hydra’s den without him at your side, fighting with you. 

But the risk to your life was certain. His wasn’t. He could still be safe, if he only stayed away.

“I calculate risks too, Y/N,” he spoke, hushed in your ear. “I know what can happen… what will likely happen… And I’m still coming. I won’t be parted from you. _I can’t_. Not ever again.”

* * *

You and the Team didn’t have to wait long. 

The lab had been quiet for some time that evening, plans made and scrapped, arguments and agreements falling flat. Bruce had brought everyone back with a few words as everyone was sipping on their caffiene kick of choice, prepping for another long night.

“Uh, Vier Gliedmaßen… the underground one? Should it be showing signs of activity?” Bruce asked suddenly, every eye looking to him before Nat and Tony rushed to look at the screen.

Bruce was right. It was showings pops of electricity running through it again. Just that one base though; the other remained seemingly dead.

And of course it was Vier Gliedmaßen. It was sickly poetic and made your stomach lurch, you hand gripped your mug too tightly. Immediately you felt the brief press of a hand rest at the small of you back and felt Bucky's steady heat beside you.

“You still willing to go alone?” Nat said, looking up to you with a raised brow and the neon light of the screen dancing in her eyes.

“Y/N is not going alone,” Steve said. 

He stepped forward, face determined and ready for a fight, with his shield already strapped to his back and battle-hardened look on his face. Bucky crossed his arms, standing slightly taller as silent confirmation to the Team that he wasn’t leaving you either.

Bucky’s arm brushed up closer against yours, and as the cool metal touched you, you took a cool, slow breath in. You felt him, his emanating warmth, and the comforting subtly spicy smell. He was an anchor to you and you let him be, focusing on the strength the two of you had together to fight this.

It was a stab straight through your heart at the thought of what that outcome could be with him joining you against Hydra. But regardless of your feelings, he was coming. In doing so it probably damned one or both of you.

“No,” you answered Nat. “I’m not going alone.”

* * *

In your party was Steve, Nat, Sam, and Bucky. Save Bucky, this was the team you had been out with more missions on. They had your back. They had never let you down.

But now the variable in this calculation was an enemy with potential years of planning under their belt. Their focus wasn’t to wreak havoc, or steal bombs, or topple a government. It was to capture you in the most painful way they could.

You were sitting at the back of the jet in perhaps your last hours of freedom, dawn sky beginning to show it’s delicate pinkish light through the windows. This way you could see everyone, the preparing they did, and the conversations they had while remaining back and distant from them. 

There was no more preparing you could do. No more training that would help you now. You were forced to go in as is with a patchy memory and diminished fighting skills.

You were relying on a plan that the Team had formed. They figured at that least they knew the terrain, knew the enemy, knew what they wanted. But only Bucky and you knew first hand the length Hydra would go. 

The Avengers had rules and cared for each other. Hydra didn’t have either restriction. They would burn the whole place down with everyone inside if it got them their prize.

“Two hours out from the base,” Tony’s voice over the intercom, quite a bit more serious than usual. “We’re dropping down now. Stay safe, kiddos.”  

Most of the remaining Team were flying beside you in another jet. You walked queitly over to the window, going to say a last goodbye. Looking out, you saw Tony in the pilot’s seat who gave you a wave, which you returned. After that, they started a steady decline down to the ground. You watched them drift away silently.

They might not be able to be there with you, but they were going to stay nearby. It’ll be easier not to have to cross an ocean if things go wrong. They would still be two hours away (less at a higher speed than you were currently traveling) but it was a small comfort to have them close.

It had been hard earned, getting most of them to sit this one out, and had taken hours of the night. You wouldn’t have been able to win them over without Steve though. With the number of missions the four of you went on, you were a well-oiled machine and he was sure the group could handle this. And now with the addition of Bucky, there was a higher likelihood of success (or you sold it to them that way).

Splitting up the Team was no one’s first choice, but it was a necessary one. Ruefully you were grateful it was this way. In case the lot of you were killed today at least some members would survive. You tried to push that idea out of your head as you sat back down at the far end of the jet.

You felt but didn’t meet Bucky’s eyes on you, not until he walked over and sat down beside you. Gently and smoothly he took your hand, holding it, not saying a word.

You wondered if you looked that bad to warrant the gesture, but then again you probably did.

It wasn’t just your safety or life you were worried about. It was the Team's. It was Bucky’s.

You weren’t stupid; Hydra could trigger you, trigger Bucky too if they had the means to do it. Though there wasn’t a certainty that Gerault could take over control of Bucky, it was a concrete guarantee that they could trigger you.

Yet the two of you were still here, flying closer towards them minute by minute.

You were trusting the Team. Trusting them to be able to incapacitate you should Hydra’s control overtake you again. But you knew the damage you could cause. You knew they may have to fight both you and Hydra today.

The guilt was overpowering. Guilt at this ever even coming to this point. Guilt at putting them in so much danger. Guilt for acts against them you didn’t want to nor had committed yet.

So you held onto Bucky’s hand, looking to the floor, trying to come to terms with a future you weren’t sure you could handle.

It was hard to believe that so recently you had been dancing with him, heart overflowing with peace and love for the first time in your existence. You squeezed tight as you desperately hoped it was not the last.

* * *

“From what we can read there are nine distinct points of activity showing. Either someone is walking around or turned on the lights,” Steve said in his briefing voice, trying to keep things light. “We go in and hit them in two teams: Y/N and Bucky, Natasha and myself. Sam is here as backup.”

“Yeah, ground the man with the wings,” Sam said sarcastically.

“We’re going underground, good luck flying down there,” Nat said, giving him a little side-eye.

“We hit these points one at a time. Once you’re clear the area, you call back to the other team, and they enter their next point. No one enters somewhere without the other team available to back you up. If there are traps, we will do what we have too to avoid setting them off. If we do, we have a team able to jump in and help. That doesn’t work if both teams spring a trap at once.”

“Worst case, I fly in a save your ass,” Sam confirmed.

“Right. Questions?”

No one had any and you didn’t expect anyone too. This was a final overview, not the nitty-gritty. The plan had been detailed and gone over carefully back at the Tower and now the only thing to do was get there.

When the jet landed, the powering down engines only made you realize _your_ engines were going a mile a minute. 

As the door opened, the woody fresh air reached you and you tried unsuccessfully to use it to clear your head. You hung back in the dark jet as everyone exited into the morning light except you and Bucky.

“Can you give us a minute?” you called out to Steve, who turned around at your words. He was on the ground, studying you for a moment before giving a small nod.

“We’ll do a sweep out here,” Steve said kindly, rounding up the Team as giving you some privacy.

Bucky walked from the open jet door right up to you, a question in his furrowed brow. It wasn’t like you to hesitate and you weren’t really, even in this situation. You just had to get something off your chest now, before you couldn’t any longer.

You breathed him in a moment, moving in to rest your forehead on his shoulder. His hands came up to hold you and you let yourself lean into him.

“I just needed to tell you... I love you,” you whispered, then continued determinedly. “And that it won’t be the last time I say that.”

He wrapped his arms around you tighter and you pushed out the thought of what that felt like when you were falling sleeping together. That memory would keep you firmly planted on this jet if you fell in too deep.

He didn’t respond to your worry, to your need to state that this was not going to be the end, even though you had this nagging feeling from the start.

But instead, he leaned your chin up and kissed you. 

It was a kiss that started off sweet and simple, his warm lips gently moving against yours. It was supposed to be a comfort, an encouragement. But his lips and body quickly grew a deeper urgency, mouth opening to take more of you in, breath coming faster and faster in his chest. His body moved against yours, a sudden desperate wanting springing up in him, forgetting himself or the situation. And to that you gave in, matching his own intensity with yours, nails digging into him, vehemently unwilling to let go. He pushed you against the table, hips grinding into yours, body pressing you back as you were enveloped by him. It was desperate and heated and screamed of goodbyes. It brought the sting of tears to your eyes.

“I’m yours… All yours,” he panted, pulling away from you before clutching you tighter. “And you’re _mine_. Not theirs. They won’t get you.”

* * *

The tunnel was dark, dank, and chillingly familiar.

There was no option to retreat and no ability to run or hide, so the thought never crossed your mind. You were here. This was happening. Soon enough you would be on the other side of this insanity and would look back at this moment in relief.

Right now only fire and anger and terror and adrenalin remained in you.

This was the main entrance and exit to the fifth base, the one Bucky and Steve were taken and strung up in. The one you had to reach through a claustrophobically small little tunnel to get to them, cut and beaten by the time you got to the bottom. The one you almost died in last time you were here.

You didn’t remember much of leaving here before, your body being dragged out by Bucky, dying in his arms. They had been poisoned and beaten while you had been cut open and destroyed. It was hardly a thrilling prospect to be coming back.

Last time there had been little lights illuminating the dirty corridor, but now there was nothing. Only bright white streams from four flashlights as you silently worked your way down. The gritty floor under everyone’s boots echoed, stale air continuing through the unending tunnel.

It was both slow and quick moving, you feeling as though you would never reach the underground base, but shocked that you were there when you arrived.

The door in was the same as you remembered. Big, metal, rusted in spots. You reminded yourself that last time you went through that door, you didn’t have weapons. You didn’t have a way to communicate with anyone. You didn’t have back-up. You didn’t know what you were getting into.

You were much more prepared now. You had all that you were missing last time, except your full skills and thick skin…

You rarely ignored your instincts- as typically they told you to fight and you were usually happy to do so- but in that moment they were telling you strongly to run and never come back. But you swallowed down the feeling to bolt and followed in after Steve as he pushed open the door.

This wasn’t a time to run and hide. This was a time get _angry_.

Whatever Hydra had in store for you beyond that door, they would be met with a fury and a fire that you brought up from deep within your soul. It would burn them and destroy them and you would beat them. They would _not_ take your life away from you again and they would _not_ take Bucky from you, even if your instincts were screaming otherwise.


	19. Not What They Made You

An eerie, otherworldly feeling had seeped into you, weaving through your anger and determination to get out of this place alive.

The hallways were lined with dirt and concrete, oppressive and practically oozing. The humidity was thick around you like you were walking through cobwebs, sweat building and dripping down your skin as it clung to you.

Bucky led the way, the pair of you stepping silently and carefully down yet another dank and dirty corridor in your search for Hydra. The only sound between you being the annoying buzz of the lighting strung up and the occasional drip of murky water from the ceiling.

His machine gun was trained dead ahead and focus unwavering. Every movement from him, every shift of his eyes or adjustment of grip on his gun was calculated and expert. He slipped so easily into this element, with no hesitation or fear in his movements. Nothing but single-minded drive rolled off of him, his mind focused on finding them and simultaneously keeping you _from_ them.

You were not as emotionless, your training never rooted as much in stealth as his had been. Your quiet footfalls remained as equally carefully placed as his, the air about you just as silent. But with every step you took, a fury built harder and heavier in your chest.

Fighting back against an enemy used to be your element. This stifling pressure, this bleak kind of present used to leave you unfazed and in an almost euphoric frenzy. A violent chaos was rooted in you like stealth was rooted in Bucky. You used to thrive on a fight like this, used to love a challenge because you knew when it came down to it that you had to win. That you would always win.

But anger grew in you because of what Hydra was making you feel instead of that unyielding fortitude.

Fear. 

In your chest you fought against that helplessness they planted in you, that terror and guilt and doubt in all this. They had no right to do so anymore and you would be damned if they were going to take away anything more from you. Fuck them all if they thought they could strip you of your fire and replace it with pain and fear. They had taken enough from you and they weren’t going to fucking have anymore.

The pair of you were halfway through the dingey complex on your way to the to next checkpoint, you seeing a fiery red and him seeing cool blue. That was when it started.

A sudden, nagging pull at the back of your neck caused you to drop your gun, metallic clang hitting the stone floor. Bucky swung around sharply, immediately searching you for injury and the area for an enemy.

You felt bound in by this claustrophobic heated tunnel, bound by the fear of Hydra looming ever present, bound in by the pain that overtook you now.

You gripped the back of your head like you were trying to keep your brain from slipping out of it, shutting your eyes tightly against the nauseating feeling. You took several shallow hot breaths, desperately wishing you were in the cool outside, not wet and moldy tunnels from your terrible past.

“Getting better or worse?” Bucky asked, hushed.

When you opened your eyes, he was in front of you, one hand holding his gun, the other on your elbow, eyes searching yours.

If he wasn’t standing right to you, you wouldn’t have heard his words. They almost got stuck in the thick air before reaching your ears. For a moment the corridor swayed around you before levelling off again. A slight reprieve hit you, washing away only the sharpest edge of the pain, and you were able to take a deep breath in again.

“Better, not gone,” you said, jaw held tight against the residual pain. “Am I… am I bleeding?” 

Touching your fingers to your nose you saw heated red drips dribbled down your fingers and knuckles. Quickly you tried to wipe it away, wrist hitting your nose too hard as though cleaning off the existence of blood would mean the problem was gone too.

His deep blue eyes didn’t leave your face while he nodded, his cool and focused mask still up to hide his emotions. His hand went to your neck, thumb wiping away the blood that was dripping there also, just a drop or two from your ear.

Shit, this was the worst possible time for this.

“I’m alright,” you said, wanting to will those words into existence as you sniffed back the residual blood. “I’ll be alright. Let’s just get this done and get home.”

You didn’t ask and didn’t guess at what he was thinking or feeling and was glad when he did offer it up or try to stop you. This was always going to be a risk. The only reason why you were here now because it was the only way to get this to stop before it killed you.

So the pair of you pushed on, finding that as time passed that it was hard to fight both the intense ache in your head and the nagging feeling that this was all going to go terribly wrong for one or both of you.

It wasn’t long after the start of your latest episode that this place showed its first signs of something else going on.

The buzz of the intercom sounded suddenly and loudly. It disrupted the stale quiet, immediately causing you and Bucky to jolt, instinctively pulling together, guns trained out and ready to fire. It instantly reminded you of the last Hydra complex you were in, your voice breathing the name “Bucky” over and over through the base's speakers, intimate and heated.

This time the words were a jumble. Different languages saying different disconnected words over and over. It was confusing and disorienting, adding a distinctly eerie feeling to an already off-putting situation. There had to be a purpose to it all, you just couldn't reason what.

The ringing in your ears at the too-loud voices echoing through the base at the very least just seemed to amplify your migraine, the throbbing building to constantly rising ache. As the pair of you continued cautiously forward, you clenched your teeth against the sound assaulting your ears. 

So now you were unfocused and could barely hear, while out in enemy territory who wanted nothing more than to get their hands on you. 

_Shit._

But the two of you silently pushed on, with only a glance or two from Bucky now behind you.

It was several minutes of listening to the damned shrill intercom buzz now out meaningless Russian words when you took a turn.

As a spike of pain struck you at the back of the head you stumbled to the ground, slamming down clumsy and disoriented. You forced your forehead down into the dirt and stone, trying to use it to ground yourself as the room moved and swayed around you.

You clutched your gun tightly in one hand while the other blindly reached out, trying to find your partner.

“Buck…” you gasped. “Bucky!”

But as you shifted and wheezed to look behind you, you blearily made out something far back down the corridor in the shadows.

It was a figure of a man, bent over on the floor much like you were, shaking and unable to stand. All you could really see in those shadows were deep blue eyes filled with desperation.

“Bucky!” you choked, not understand what the hell was happening.

“Y/N!” he gasped out much like you, before filling the hall with a terrible, aching scream.

It shivered through you like a vicious fever under your skin, ripping you apart in pain for him. The combination of your overwhelming torment and his anguished shouts brought the burn of tears to your eyes.

But his screams suddenly stopped, as the did the intercom all at once. In a moment the hallway went quiet, only your heaving breaths filling the space. You clutched your gun still as though it could offer relief, biting your tongue hard now to keep from shrieking out as you felt the back of your head and spine fill with lava.

In the stillness as Bucky stood up, stoic and slow, your muscles with a jolt began to slowly uncoil and relax into the ground of their own accord, leaving you like a boneless heap on the floor, unable to even lift your head.

“Bucky,” you whispered, trying to blink away the darkness that was creeping in as the pain became too much. “Bucky… help… I…”

But as he stepped up to you, looking down without so much as a soft word or gentle touch on your skin, blackness enveloped your vision and mind.

* * *

When you thought you couldn’t go deeper, thought you couldn’t sink any lower, Hydra was here to pull you down again.

A reflex scream pierced through your chest to the air you as in a flash your eyes opened to the sudden blurred space around you, reaching for Bucky mindlessly. You shut your eyes against the tumultuous cascade of senses that too quickly were rushing back to you.

Body on the ground, you thought you were going to crack and burst at the seams, as though you had been thrown off a cliff.

Your bones felt rattled out of place under your flesh, and again both you and your body cried out in pain as muscles and bones and organs were internally screaming at you, irate and undone.

Your ears rang with a terrible sound, a mix of your migraine and whatever was happening too much to for your ears to handle. 

A rotting and atrocious smell assaulted you, like you had fallen into a dirty slaughterhouse on a boiling hot day. You choked against the acidic quality of it burning through your nostrils. You tried to breathe through the smell and the pain, forcing your eyes open as fast as you could, tears already pooling and spilling over. 

The first thing you could focus when you managed to get over the shaking, heated pain that coursed over every inch of you, was the ground. If you could call it that.

It was more a crisscrossing of thick metal coils, with about six or eight inches of open space in between them. As you clued into what you landed on, you felt the specific shots of agony register in lines across your body where the metal dug into you.

The second thing you saw was what was below those metal coils.

There was nothing below them to speak of until about thirty feet down, the entire floor itself opening up to a dirty, dark hole. What lay on the ground so far below sparked a familiarity in you. There was a round object, looking like it was broken in half. Through your tears you studied it a second before realization hit.

It was half a skull.

With that piece in place, you realized what the other chunks and pieces down there were. Bones from every part of a skeleton from innumerable bodies. Rotted, dusty organs and tissue. Caked on blood staining and splattering the walls.

You blanched, trying with great effort to get up.

You shook violently as you awkwardly got to your knees on the metal coils, trying to avoid the open spaces between them.

As you shakily rose, you took in the rest of your surroundings.

The room itself was round in shape, no corners or edges to speak of. White lights streamed down harshly, illuminating everything. It was a couple stories of ridged metal mesh thickly covering the open hallways behind that encircled it. High above you it looked as though the ceiling opened up to another room ( _god, were you thrown down here?_ ). That said nothing of the dead, dried blood coating most every surface, with the crust of it disintegrating at the lightest touch. 

 _Like a fucking cage match ring_ , you thought, both angry and now deeply terrified.

But suddenly your mind pushed that aside for something far more important: Bucky.

You turned around on the spot frantically, searching in the bright streaming light for him. 

Your eyes caught a figure across the room from you. He was bent over on the floor, trying to stand. You carefully moved towards him, wincing through the pain.

You got all of two steps before you screamed again.

Clutching your head, the rattling inside your brain was replaced by a spike that brought you to your knees, one falling painfully on a coil, one sinking into the empty space painfully.

Suddenly, that lightheaded numb feeling began to spread. You only had a moment to realize what was happening, but you were too late to voice it to Bucky, only able to whimper out pitifully.

You felt the blood dripping from your nose and ears, mentally begging it to stop.

You gasped in gulps of air, the foggy reality settling in and taking your breath away with the realization.

He was standing across this space from you, body confidently upright, shoulders square, head angled down ominously. 

His usual bright blue eyes that held endless emotions and thoughts, were dead. They were cold and distant, not registering you at all.

Bucky had been right. They didn’t get you. He made sure that they didn’t get you.

Instead, they got _him_.

You weren’t staring at James Buchanan Barnes, your love and anchor in this world.

You were looking at the Winter Soldier. His eyes, his stance, his unfeeling distance as he watched you suffer was enough to know that. But your vivid memories of that look on his face was enough to confirm it.

Somehow, someway, they had turned him, triggering him back to be a pawn for Hydra again.

And you hadn’t been there. Hadn’t realized. Hadn’t notice beyond your own pain.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you breathed. “ _Oh god_ , I’m so sorry!”

Had he called out to you? Had he begged you to run? Asked you to stay, to say goodbye one last time before he wasn’t himself anymore? Asked you to take away the pain and terror as he was stripped of his very self?

Your mind clung painfully to Bucky, thoughts spiraling out and thinking only of him, crumbling under the weight of your complete and utter  _failure_ to protect him. God, you hadn't even thrown a punch or fought Hydra off, did you? No, you had been too weak and too useless to do anything at all to try and save him. 

Part of you knew this thinking would get you killed, that you and he alone in a cage match ring was not going to end well, but you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think over the fact that they had taken him from you.

You sobbed, grunted and groaned, battling yourself to think of a way out of this before a thought sprang up, your logical and self-preserving side desperate to get you to act on it. It wasn’t exactly enough to save you right now but that wasn’t likely even a possibility at all.

“Steve!” you yelled onto your comm, hunched over with a hand on your knee, exhausted from the effort of keeping your brain and heart from exploding. “Steve, you have to get out now. Just _get out_!”

“Where the hell are you?!” he said, voice both relieved and frantic. You had no idea how long they had been trying to find you or contact you.

“Just go,” you swallowed, eyes locked on the Winter Soldier still. “Just run, _please_.”

“It says we’re right above you but you’re not here,” said Nat. “Where are you? How do we get to you? Y/N please, where are you?”

You shook your head, standing and taking a shaky step back, away from the cold assassin before you, still unmoving.

“I’m gone,” you sobbed, trying dismally to get your voice under control. “It’s just over. You need to get out. Just find a way to get us back… somehow.”

“No!” Steve shouted, breath heavy in your ear.

“What do you mean _us_ , Y/N? Where is Bucky?” Nat said.

“Bucky’s… gone,” you choked, voice too emotionless for the gravity of those words. “And I’m either dead or next… So just get _out_ , please!”

You clicked your comm off, cutting off the yells and demands of your friends, probably a few floors above you.

It could have been a world away though. You were in hell now. One you saw coming from a distance away and still did nothing to stop it.

“Bucky,” you whispered, face scrunched in pain before trying to get a hold of yourself.

It was a minute or two before you continued, swallowing down every emotion you could muster, looking to the Soldier with your head raised and eyes soaked with tears.

“Soldat,” you called out, getting no real reaction from him, though he wasn’t made to feel. “Where’s Gerault?”

You could’ve asked for the exit or asked how to get out. But fuck, he wasn’t going to let you and you weren’t going to leave until you saw the man that was bringing this ruin down on you. Ideally close enough to snap his neck with your bare hands.

“Soldat!” you shouted when you got nothing but dead silence. “Comply!”

“I’m here, Y/N,” said the voice of Gerault through the intercom, jarring you where you stood. “Here watching and quite contented at this reunion.”

Immediately your eyes scanned passed the metal mesh walls, looking to the open hallways behind. You searched the dark nooks and bright areas and came up with nothing.

“Show yourself you coward,” you whispered.

“No, dear, I think I’m going to show you my Winter Soldier instead.”

You swallowed, eyes turning frantically back to Bucky. 

“Don’t,” you whispered, not sure if it was to Bucky or Gerault. But mercy would not come from either. 

“Soldat,” came Gerault voice, oddly joyful in the midst of your terror. “Comply.”

Immediately Bucky moved towards you, eye contact unbreaking, feet moving confidently, somehow able to walk easily on the metal coils underfoot without pause.

You scrambled back, footing not as sure, mind not nearly as focused with the physical and emotional pain covering you.

“Bucky, don’t!” you screamed, not knowing exactly what orders Gerault had given him.

You only had a moment. One moment to collect yourself. Not the scattered, patchy self you were trying to hold together, but the person you were. The person they tried to take away. The fighter and champion.

You recalled back to those first endless days with Bucky. Fighting him and imploring him and begging him and raging against him. You had tried again and again to wake him up and had repeatedly failed. And maybe you didn’t win every fight. Maybe he broke you and beat you over and over. But you still survived.

And you could do it again.

You had just an instant to pull yourself up and back into that fighter, and hope above all that his orders weren’t to kill you. Not for your sake, but _his_. The man underneath this Soldier who would remember this. Who was there now, hating this and screaming against this fight he couldn’t stop.

You were a few steps away from the metal mesh wall now, ready to move and to fight as he came with that confident, unyielding walk.

_Disable him. Find a way out. Get out alive._

“I’m coming for you Bucky,” you said, promised to the man you couldn't see beyond the Soldier mask. 

_You can do this. You will do this._

Immediately Bucky launched at you, metal fist swinging powerfully to your face. He always favoured that arm in a fight and you used that to your advantage, blocking painfully with your arm as you ducked down, not fighting the momentum but redirecting it. 

Bucky was a tank. You weren’t going to win this by force. You had to be smarter and faster than him; that was the only way. You would not be able to match his strength and stamina as you were now.

You swung your own fist up, right hook punching him square in the face. It knocked him to the side briefly and you used that space to kick him hard in the side of the knee. Trying to bolt, you didn’t make it far.

A hand grabbed your shoulder and wretched you back, lifting you in the air and flipping you clear across the room against the wall with a harsh slam.

You fell on your stomach, trying to ignore the searing pain. But you didn’t stay down. Moving fast with adrenalin now flooding your veins, you stood up and ran towards him, meeting him in the middle of this ring.

He didn’t hesitate. Blocking fists with your arms, you swung and moved to block every attack coming at you, Bucky moving at a blinding speed. With every punch he tried to land you, you fell half a second behind as his sheer power pushed you back on unsteady feet, throwing you off-kilter.

You reached up to block a punch on your left, your foot catching on the ground, but his powerful right hook came in and made hard contact with your face. Fresh blood instantly erupted from you, gushing down your skin.

You didn’t think and didn’t see, just jumped up to back spin kick him right in the chest. He flew back, landing with a hard thud and a metallic twang.

This gave you all of a moment to try and make a goddamn plan. You had no weapons and no way out it looked like. The only thing you had was an assassin with a metal arm probably trying to kill you.

Bucky dove back to you and you blocked his punch to your face, but again his right hook made contact with your body, hitting you in the ribcage. As you hunched over in pain, his left arm grabbed your neck, the metallic buzz in your ears.

You couldn’t even gasp his grip is so tight, making your eyes bulge and head spin. He walked you back to the wall, slamming your head and body against it.

You brought your knee up to his groin making him fall away slightly before another knee hit his stomach. That loosened his grip enough for you to escape, but you didn’t move.

Bucky swung at you again, and this time you didn’t try to block it, you just ducked at the last second. His fist connected with the metal mesh wall, break through with a high pitched screech.

For a moment he was stuck there, fist caught up in the metal mesh, and you used that to lock your arms around his neck and free arm, twisting him and slamming him down on the ground. You kicked out and heard a crunch as your foot kicked his face hard.

His arm reached out lightning fast and pulled your ankle harshly, sending you down to the ground. As he stood up you did too, but you managed to do it faster, running and kneeing him square in the chest.

Bucky flew back, right into the hole he made in the wall. The metal opened up under the force and Bucky crashed clean through to the solid ground on the other side.

You didn’t wait but dove through the opening to escape this cage match ring, landing hard right on Bucky and started to run like your life depended on it.

* * *

Wheezing and bleeding you sprinted full speed down the hall, hearing nothing but footsteps behind you, blood in your ears, and panic in your heart.

You memorized your escape route on the way through this base, so now you just had to find any of the same tunnels you had gone down.

Taking another sharp turn you careened down the corridor, unable to think or breathe or feel. _You just had to get the fuck out._

You would take Bucky with you if you could. You would try. But if you didn’t, you would come back for him. You would _never_ just leave him to those bastards for good.

At another sharp turn, your eyes caught up to your speed and you instantly noticed two things: there was a large metal door halfway through this long corridor that was swung open, and near the end of the hall was Steve, Nat, and Sam.

You knew Bucky was all of a second behind you. And though he could have killed you already, he hadn’t, so his mandate was somewhat clearer. If his mission was to hurt you as you knew now it would be, killing your Team would be the worst way to do that.

And you realized you couldn’t take the risk.

You would’ve been a match for him. If you had all your faculties you would have been able to take him down.

But you don’t.

And you knew you couldn’t.

You choked, skidding to a stop as the trio heard you coming, instantly wheeling around and eyes lighting up as soon as they saw you, feet bolting towards you. Grabbing the metal door handle you wretched it closed, turning the wheel mechanism to lock it: them on one side, you and Bucky on the other.

Through the small glass panel Steve’s face erupted in painful bewilderment, reaching the door and immediately hamming the edge of his shield down on the hinges. But it wouldn’t be in time.

A second after Steve arrived to the door, Bucky did just behind you.

He didn’t slow his momentum, knee slamming into your spine and hand forcing your head into the glass, blood spraying wildly across the glass.  

You gasped, head thrown back at the action, barely able to feel the pain of it as the concussive force rattled your brain. 

Dazed, you could only barely see Steve’s blue eyes through the dripping blood, as he looked to your bruised and bloodied face.

The only thing he was able to do now was watch as he lost two of his closest and dearest friends.

“It’s okay Steve… just go,” you said, almost slurring your words and blinking slow. “You... you can go.”

A metal grip grabbed you shoulder roughly and dragged you back as you burst out into a scream at the gripping pain that caught up to your mind. He was dragging you back down the hall, back to the ring, and away from your friends and possible salvation.

Your breath came faster and panicked as feeling came back to you more and more, your spine and head screaming, your face swollen and split open, your ribs and hands broken.

“I’m sorry,” you half-sobbed, half screamed after those blue pained eyes of Steve. “I’m so sorry!”

They tried to speak to you, Steve's mouth shouting out something with that tormented and angry look on his face, but through the doorway you couldn't hear a word of it. And as you turned down the hall, kicking and yelling and thrashing, your friends faded from view.

You struggled the entire way back to the ring, but it made no difference, barely fazing the Soldier at all.

He threw you down in the middle, making you gasp and clutch your side as the metal criss-cross of coils collided with you again.

“I know you’re in there Bucky,” you wheezed, trying in a pained, fumbled mess to stand.

The Soldier’s fist cracked down on your kneecap, breaking it and keeping you from standing as you shrieked.

You shook there on the floor, grabbing the metal of the ground as the tears flowed down your face, the Soldier looming over you.

“And I need you… to know… that I love you.”

You barely finished when another fist came down on the side of your face, slamming you with a crack against the floor.

“Darling,” you gargled, blood rising up and spitting out of your mouth. “I love you. No matter... he does to me.”

He kicked you in the ribcage, sending you briefly airborne for a moment before you landed hard back down on the spot.

You repeated the words you told him before. You had told him at the time that he wasn’t ready to hear it, and you had repeated it since. You knew today wasn’t the day it would sink in.

But maybe the real Bucky could hear you. Could forgive himself someday for what he was doing to you now.

“You are so worthy,” you said, dazed as the agony that was coursing through every inch of you started to slowly fade.

Another punch to the face, and suddenly you couldn’t see. You rolled to your back, trying to reach up to him blindly.

“You are so _loved_.”

A punch to the stomach forced blood to gush out of your mouth, slurring your gargled words.

“You're not this… You're not… what they- they made you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! 
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this roller coaster so far. I'm going to try and post this more regularly and I apologize for leaving you guys hanging for a couple weeks on end between new additions. I got this one out in under a week but the aim is once a week moving forward. 
> 
> If you're liking this (you masochist you) please let me know! Comments & kudos keep me going in life, I swear


	20. The Price of Escape

“Enough, Soldat.” 

Finally, those words came and ended his fists beating mercilessly against your still body.

Immediately Bucky quieted, stepping back at the command. If you could have looked up from your crumpled position on the cold, hard metal ground you wouldn't have seen much of Bucky at all: his face was blank, eyes dead, muscles stiff and body ridged.

But you couldn’t see beyond a blurred darkness, could barely even hear, couldn’t move your broken body an inch if you wanted too. You just laid there, bloodied and dying on the ground in front of the man you loved as his fists dripped with your blood.

You were always going to die in a fight, let’s just be honest about that. You had never planned to ever _stop_ fighting so naturally your inclination was to believe that a fight was where it would all end for you.

But you didn’t want it end _this_ way, for his sake. 

If you died at his hand- from a colder and detached perspective- it hardly would matter as you would simply be dead. It would be horrifying, bloody, and painful but eventually you would just cease to exist.

But if you died by  _his_ hand he would remain behind, alive and tormenting himself, unable to forgive or forget. The Bucky that you fell in love with would die along with you in a much different way. As your body would decompose, his soul would rot too under the weight of beating the life from you. He'd be forced to live on with himself, knowing he killed the one person he loved most. And honestly you didn't know if he could stand it; if your position was reversed, you knew that you certainly wouldn't.

Footsteps clanged against the metal coil floor, vibrations not enough to cause your dead-weighted body to move really. The only slight sway was the arm pinned under your body hanging loosely down through a gap into the void below. Like your lifeless arm was reaching down to the bones and skulls and decomposed bodies below.

“Y/N… We’ve done a lot of planning to get you here today," Gerault started pleasantly, towering somewhere over you. His words came with a high pitched ringing in your ears, “You always appreciated a well-constructed plan that revolved around uncompromising pain. I think that gives us cause to all take a minute to admire my work here, don’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, jaw bone cracked in more place than one. You still would have tried to talk but found your body wholly unable to form a single word. 

Instead, you very, very slowly shifted all but your middle finger down on your hand laid out beside you, slowly flipping Gerault off. It was essentially the same sentiment as you would've said if you could. This feeling of being brought to the brink of oblivion was a familiar one to you, but you had been out of practice of getting beaten to death and without the intense flood of chemicals Hydra used to give you to block out pain and keep you going, you could do very little. But at least you could still flip him off.

“Soldat,” Gerault said singularly.

Quick as a flash Bucky’s foot landed on your hand, crushing your wrist over a metal coil. The intense crushing burn instantly roused you, moving to pull it away as your lungs let out a horrendous wheeze, unable to scream anymore. You heard your wrist crack and pop audibly, even above the ringing in your ears.

“N… No,” you tried to scream or whisper or _anything_ , words not quite getting out.

You spat blood, shrieking internally as he didn’t stop or let up the pressure. 

“Again,” said Gerault.

A brief reprieve was almost not even felt, brain moving too slow and pain too great, before his foot lifted and slammed down again. 

This time you felt practically nothing. The only sensation was a shaking that started from your spine and enveloped your whole body. You couldn’t even feel if his foot lifted, like there was nothing at the end of your wrist at all.

“Alright that’s enough, Soldat,” Gerault commanded, you barely hearing him anymore, your body rolling and shaking internally. “Trigger her, cauterize the wounds, and pump her full of this to get her moving. We have to paste her mind back together and get on with the plan.”

At the word “trigger” a memory lethargically resurfaced, of Bucky in your early Hydra days. He had been a handler of yours. He knew how to trigger you.

You could picture him, in your cell, standing in front of you. He would be framed by dirty concrete walls and thick metal bars, his blue eyes as cold and dead as you had seen, as you had wanted to feel yourself. He never flinched or stopped when you screamed at him or fought through the pull of those damn words as he spoke them. He would stare at you, would pin you down, and speak the words you couldn't remember. Words that would violently tear your mind away from your body, and replace it with something sinister. Something hellish and brutal and insane.

You shut out the pain of those memories. At the thought of _him_  of all people bringing you back into the perversion that was Hydra’s control over you. 

You just laid there and tried to shut it all out as he spoke above you. Hearing the rip as your mind retreated inside yourself and feeling something sickeningly familiar take its place.

* * *

Walking through the base was a much more leisurely affair this time around than the last. Your hunter was not following behind anymore, but he was now a partner, walking with you.

With The Winter Soldier- your once and now at least partial hander- at your side you weren’t likely to do anything Gerault wouldn’t approve of. Not yet anyway. 

Blood dripped down from all over you like you were shedding what had made you soft. Ordinary. Weak.

Visions of your friends melted away. Of a kind of home. Of a love. 

Gone.

You strolled down the dimly lit corridor, the Soldier marching beside you with his ever intense gait. A man on a mission he was. You could admire that.

When you approached a turn, the darker dirt corridor you were in about to turn into something brighter with grey painted concrete and lights pinned to the walls. But the pair of you immediately stopped before making the turn as voices filtered with an echo down that hall, urgent and breathless and hard.

The Team was there. At least the three you came with. The others wouldn’t be that long out though, probably only mere minutes away by now. The pair of you still had time yet.

Your sharp eyes went to the Soldier’s in the shadows. Together you nodded before stepping forward into the light.

Walking into their view, you only took a few steps before stopping, hand on your hip. They were halfway down the corridor, boots skidding to a stunned stop as silently you both appeared. The blue-clad captain wasn't too far away to see the cascade of emotions strike through his face, with his two counterparts Sam and Natasha not doing too much better, each assessing you both from the distance. You could practically see their stomachs drop.

“Bucky!” Steve called out in the empty space, word echoing hollowly.

Steve took a few steps forward before Bucky raised his gun up, stopping Steve in his tracks. Understanding and revulsion dawned on his face, tense every muscle as his eyes widened.

Steve had seen Bucky like this before, on more than one occasion. He knew what to expect. But as he turned to you, you could see that he very much didn’t know what you were truly capable of. He should have looked far more afraid.

Your eyes watched him, so far dilated it was like they were completely black. Whatever the Soldier had given you on Gerault’s commanded was like pure adrenalin in your veins, blocking out any physical pain of your body completely. It was intoxicating, like you were fucking invincible.

You heard and saw and felt everything yet absolutely nothing, the entire world spread open and closed to you at once. You couldn't get your bearings on anything yet understood everything, as everything was real and fake and horrifying and blissful at once.

“Y/N,” Steve choked quietly, looking down your clearly broken and shredded body.

Blood was splattered and dripping freely from you, your jaw set at an offputting angle, bruised covered you, deep gashes lay open and puffy. But his eyes didn't settle on those other rampant injuries. In fact, his gaze didn’t leave your right arm. Behind him Natasha’s went wide and the blood drained from her face. Sam only whispered an “Oh my god”, the words fizzling out weakly, devastation overtaking his concerned expression.

You held up your right arm, where naturally your hand should be. 

But it wasn’t there anymore.

It was gone, now down in that pit somewhere. Crushed off under the force of the Soldier’s boot. The end of your arm was a mess of purple and red and black, the flesh seared with flames that had bubbled and sealed the shredded wound.

And honestly, you didn’t feel a thing. Two hands or one, you could still cause more pain and win more fights than anyone else in the game.

It didn’t take a second to put on your most pathetic, shaking voice. Your eyes widened and lip quivered, breaths coming shallow and forced as though holding back sobs.

“Steve, how-how could you let this happen to me?!” you whimpered, tears gushing down your face on command. They filled your eyes and made them shine with anguish and brokeness, falling over bruised skin and through still-wet blood. “How could you _do this to me_? You were my friend, my brother, my leader… You- you were supposed to protect me...”

Your once-friend went white, almost gasping with a sharp inhale, shocked still with your words. You couldn’t help but break at the sight of him there, heart absolutely breaking right in front of you. A short little cackle rung out from your throat, an eerie, unnatural noise that didn't sound like the real you.

“Such a softie,” you murmured, face pulling back into neutral lines at the drop of a dime.

But on orders from Gerault not to physically engage them, you figured it was about time to wrap this up before they came to their senses.

Fear and heartbreak was the name of the game, for both you and them. Plant it in them to complete the mission. Then the real torture of your newly altered life would begin again.

With your black eyes coupled with a bloody smile, you gave off an instantly disturbed feeling, and that didn’t escape your old friends.

“I don't think we've officially met,” you said low, smile growing. "But let me give you a little piece of advice here. Because you should be running. As far and as fast as you can from me."

* * *

**_Eight Months Later_ **

The Winter Soldier stood- as he always did- arms crossed. Only when Gerault came in did he drop his arms, ready for orders.

Pathetic and submissive. You, on the other hand, didn’t leave your chair, leaning back leisurely. You tapped your metal finger down impatiently, your new metal hand now matching that of the Soldier’s arm.

He was a typical stealth assassin and Hydra soldier, made and molded to be controlled and mindless. No creativity, no will. The Beast that ran under your skin was certainly _not_ the same as his. And your mind turned- as it had for some time- on how you could make him bend under _your_ will instead and what pain you could cause this stone statue of man.

 _Don’t you fucking touch him!_ your voice internally screamed, somewhere deep down in your mind, locked away and easy to ignore.

You paid little attention to it, looking around the room with a bored, silent sigh. You had been here for some time and need something to occupy yourself. When you got restless it usually ended in a bloody mess: either caused by you or done to you to control you again.

For now though you and the Soldier were a dark and gritty room, like most of where you spent your time. Your days were filled with experimentation, your body being slashed and stitched over and over, you brain fucked with a cocktail of drugs pumped through you to alter this or that about you. Then, out of your mind and torn apart, they sent out on missions to test the effectiveness of their meddling. 

Months this went on, each session worse than the last. Each episode breaking your down. Each experiment letting loose the maniac in you yet forcing you to submit to their commands. It caused a rift inside you, breaking you apart and burying the person you once were underneath the madness of it.

So yet again, you were back after the latest mission, needing to give a summary to Gerault himself, who refused to be too long without either of you, his real live trophies in all this. As per the routine of it all, you found yourself in this depressing and dank room, unremarkable and boring you- not to tears- but a soon to be psychotic fury.

Finally you caught the sound of distant footsteps down the hall, ears picking up the distant noise and body tensing despite the want for something to happen. You took over controlling your breath, keeping it constant and even. You braced for pain you couldn't avoid that ran your life now. Waited for the man tat orchestrated it all and haunted your dreams.

The man himself- Gerault, with his little eyes and smug turn of his lips- soon walked in with a few other men in tow, veering slightly to the side where the Soldier was. 

Really, the man could say “beg” and you would be down on your knees groveling. He could probably tell you to keel over and die like some sickly old dog and your heart would probably stop beating on command. Your “processing and conditioning” (also known as mental and physical torture and drug experimentation) over the months made your will bend to his, and there was almost no escaping it.

But that was if he could say it faster than you could move to snap his neck. 

Hence the needed protection of the Soldier.

At his entry, they had left the door wide open and naturally your eyes flitted to it then back to Gerault, who watched you with a calculating sneer, waiting for you to make a move.

_Run! Get out! Please, just end this!_

You almost externally scoffed, looking down to your hand with a slight smile to hide it. Your old self remained, a voice in your head, screaming and wailing and generally being a fucking nuisance.

_Run, damn it!…_

But you stayed, looking to Gerault with a pleasant neutral expression. He wasn’t stupid and neither were you. Whatever they were doing to you now was not like before when you were under their power previously. The last heads of Hydra had been much more careful. You were always locked up and strapped down when you weren't on a mission or being tortured or trained. Their control had been stifling and constant and devoid of taunts and fake freedoms. But Gerault was pompous, thinking he could take you further, could push you farther. 

And happily, you would go where he led you. Because somewhere he would make a mistake. And then you would strike. 

His freewheeling attitude about you being up and around under (somewhat) of your own will (even with the Soldier) was a dangerous game and he liked to play it, believing he had thought of everything. In those years while you were a free agent with the Avengers he schemed and planned and prepared for this.

Well, he wasn’t going to win this so easily.

Every round of torture they committed on you made you certain of that.

So no, you didn’t run. He would be expecting that. You needed something he wasn’t expecting. Something that would _hurt_.

“Soldat, mission report,” Gerault said. His eyes were still on you though.

You could practically see him trying to hide the thrill in his eyes and the fear of you there. It had been his life’s work to get you back into the fold and now he had done it. _Both_ of you. Now he was going to try for something even greater.

He meandered a little, walking behind the Soldier who stood stock still, eyes ahead and chin down.

“Mission completed,” the Soldier’s voice came, deep and dead sounding.

“Well, that’s not very descriptive. How did our Siren do? Anything out of line?”

“No.”

Gerault nodded, clearly trying to hide his pleasure. He thought he was winning. Thought he could win.

To his credit, you had been a good little girl for him, this being your eleventh mission now. Basic murder, evisceration, or a bit of psychological torture. Last night was just another test to see how you would do.

It had been a family. Ex-Shield agents who met on the job, married, had a couple kids. They were celebrating their youngest 15th birthday when the Winter Soldier and Siren came to their door. The four of them never stood a hope in hell.

Like always you had been drugged to the nines, still feeling high like you usually did now out on the field. It was that or in pain, being tortured and mutilated by Hydra for maximum results. They had fixed your mind, altering what they needed too to make you compliant to them alone. Though obviously still quite unlike the Soldier.

They shut down his emotions (externally anyway; you knew Bucky was down there somewhere screaming like the old Y/N was in you). They wanted stealth and unrelenting brute force, and they certainly got it with him. 

In you, you were full of emotion. It raged and burned and kept you spiraling out of control from one state to the next, drugs and triggers keeping you line mostly. They had shut off your inhibitions and revved up the need for destruction. He was calculating and cold; you were calculating and burning, constantly.

Hence the need to see how you would perform, if still under constant and direct supervision by someone they could count on.

The Soldier would watch, would sometimes command you to do what Hydra wanted. But usually he just stood back, watching your carnage, and judged. Never had _his_ compliance come into question though and unlike the stalwart convictions of Gerault or Hydra, you knew that it should be.

You kept silent on the several times you noticed a tick from him. Just a glimmer of the man underneath shining through.

If Gerault asked you, you would no choice but to answer, truthfully. But he didn’t. They might give you orders, but if you could slither around them? You would. They made you an agent of chaos and blood here. It would be a shame to keep things too orderly and clean, anyway. They forced you to let loose and yet kept you on a string; it was likely to be an explosive end result. And they loved the Winter Soldier so dearly. You were going to exploit that.

The previous heads of Hydra kept you hurting, kept you broken, whereas Gerault wanted to see the full hurricane force of you unleashed as much as he could. And that just gave you way too much power to be forever controlled.

So you sat, leaned back, waiting for the time when you could really do some damage.

“She always loved a messy fight,” Gerault said, flecks of hunger in his eyes.

You felt more than saw a flicker in the Soldier beside you, and at Gerault words you casually looked at the one called “the Asset”.

He had flinched. That stoic, undead Soldier. And you had seen that before, with last night being the most recent. It seemed to be happening more actually.

A mere few hours ago you had grabbed his hand which was holding a knife and plunged it into a wailing man. You had just about had enough of his mewling cries for mercy and decided a fatal stab of sharp slicing metal to his gut before wretching it up to his lungs would do the trick. At the touch of your skin to his- your hand holding his hand- the Soldier had flinched.

You studied him now, trying to feign a cool casualness about you, head tilted, body relaxed.

Your touch seemed to do it if last night was any indication. But you were beginning to think certain words would as well. You felt a deep pull to find out more, sensing a way to make him suffer. You could always pick up what made people hurt the most and were instinctually drawn to take painful advantage of it, practically making you salivate at the thought.

You would find his and whatever it was, you would make him hurt. You wanted everyone to suffer, particularly Gerault. But you would settle for a little fun on the side for their Golden Boy.

_Stop it!… Keep your fucking eyes off of him!…_

My my, how venomous.

“The next mission is _the_ mission. It’s The Avengers. All of them.”

Again, his eyes were on you. 

This was a way to torture _you_ , no doubt. A plan to go after your old friends and ex-teammates, to cause them harm or kill them or have them hurt you? That would be the nail in your old self's coffin of sheer, unbridled pain and would secure in Hydra’s mind your ability to comply. And he knew it. His plan to break you down and push you farther in action. Past a point of no return where your once healing soul was irreparably broken.

“You both have inside knowledge of all of them. And I think it’s about time to use that,” Gerault then shrugged, looking at his nails trying to feign an air of disinterest, in his arrogance. “You’re ready, at any rate. And you’re worthy.”

At the word “worthy” your head snapped over to the Soldier as a visible movement shook him, and for a moment his eyes turned from dead and limp to an awake shock of bright, shining blue.

Worthy?

The word made your eyebrow raise and a slight pull of a calculating frown on your face, missed by the arrogant and distract Gerault, too caught up in his own smug plan to notice.

Then it clicked into place.

The words you had spoken. Just like Hydra could trigger him to the Winter Soldier, maybe your words- the ones you were trying to engrain into him- could trigger him back? If that was even possible. But a hazed, scattered memory bubbled up, a thread of something similar sparking in your mind.

The memory was one of warm smiles and cool autumn air. It was the scent of popcorn and cotton candy. It sounded like light laughter and the whoosh of rickety roller coasters. It felt like a warm deep kiss from a handsome stranger and a lung-collapsing punch to the stomach with a metal fist.

That first memory of the Winter Soldier, back when your weaker self was on the brink of a hellish nightmare that would last decades and lead you right here with him again. In that first meeting you had almost roused him, hadn't you? Every touch of your skin to his, you saw that bright look of someone waking up. 

Maybe you could actually do it this time. Wake him up. With the right words and the right touches, you could get the Winter Soldier to take a back seat again. You tried not to let the dark glint in your eyes shine too bright or a manic shrill of laughter escape your throat.

Because now Gerault wanted to take down the Avengers too. _All of them_.

_Fucking stop this!… Don’t! Please, don't hurt him! Don't hurt any of them!… Just let me go!…_

You simply nodded once to Gerault as his eyes connected to your again, slowly. You weren’t stupid enough to speak directly to him anymore, he who was likely to get a rise out of it and plunge you back into a tortured frenzy just to hear you scream. Confidently he turned to the men with him.

“Get them both prepped for a fight,” he said, practically buzzing with delight. “Full measures taken, perhaps the three-day long session we were discussing. We can’t risk a slip-up.”

Gerault left the room with a smile and a confident walk, leaving the four now doomed men behind. Your plan was already in place in your mind now and it didn’t have room for them.

They approached, however slow, with hands on their gun to the pair of you. Really they didn’t stand a chance. Poor things.

_Don’t do th-_

As one man reached to put a hand on your shoulder- and _no one_ touched you without severe consequences- you let out one toothy grin, eyes hungry with a smile dancing behind them.

He was in tactical gear, bulletproof vest and all, but you didn’t need a gun to reach through to his insides. 

Like a shot your metal hand whipped out and went into the little bit of exposed fabric just below his armpit. Like a shot of lightning you cut through the fabric and into his flesh by pure force. And you didn't stop until your fingers hit lung.

With a gargle, he began to drop like a rock. 

Before his body even hit the ground you swung up and kicked another Hydra agent in the face, teeth and blood knocked right out and hitting like pellets against the far wall. You pounced to snap his neck, grabbing his weapon and shot the other two, silencer ringing out with two satisfying pops.

You didn’t have a chance to breathe before the Soldier was on you, forcing you down on the ground. But he didn't have a chance to speak a single word before your metal fist punched his throat, keeping him from speaking at all at least for a few momets. His metal hand and arms immediately maneuvered to pin down yours, grabbing your metal fist and forcing down the one that held the gun, a frustrated shriek escaping you as he tried to restrain you. His flesh elbow pinned down yours, body trying to crush you under his weight. But he wouldn’t be winning this today.

_Fucking hurt him and I’ll kill you!… Don’t touch him!… Oh god, just stop…_

Such a broken record.

You didn’t have to hurt him; you just needed him still for a second. So than yeah actually, you kinda had to hurt him.

Swinging a knee up you jabbed him in the ribcage, knocking him to the side slightly, enough for your other knee to go up to his groin repeatedly and push him off more. There was split second where his elbow on your arm loosened, and you swung your forehead into his face as hard as you could. A brutal sounding smack rang out and as he leaned back at that force, his blood spilling down on you like a delicate spring mist.

With enough leverage and room to move, you forced your arm out from under him, grasping the gun to fire. 

_God, no!… Stop! Don’t!…._

A shot rang out and the Soldier flew off you, raining more blood as the close range of the shot threw him to his back.

 _God_  that felt so good. When someone hurt, you were rewarded. It was just _intoxicating_ to hurt people now and you'd chase that high to the ends of the Earth. Or the destruction of it.

A deep and contented exhale left your body, a smirk following and tingle erupting across your skin. You gracelessly threw the gun away and it clattered heavily on the dirt cement floor. Waisting no time you grabbed the fabric of the Soldier's leather tactical coat, hoisting him up onto the chair you had been sitting in before. He was dazed but cognizant, and you didn't think it was only the bullet hole now gushing thick red blood from it; you saw that flash of blue in his eyes again when he tried to restrain you. Your shot hit an area of muscle below the shoulder but above the heart. Right on target.

Time was crucial here as you only had mere minutes to see this through. You were determined to get this done and _finally_ start having some fun.

You smiled down to the bleeding man then straddled him, hips grinding into his lap. You grabbed his face in your hands, bringing it close to yours.

_Get the fuck off of him you fucking-_

“If touch won’t fully do it, maybe a combination will?” you murmured, wriggly closer to him, as close as you could. "Let's try it out."

Even though you were different now, your times with the Avengers were there in your memories. Including your time with Bucky, with those warm delicately intimate nights together. You felt a pull of familiarity there, so close to him now, bodies pressing together. You had always fit so well, hearts beating together and breathing finding an even, steady rhythm between you.

You looked to him, drawing his face almost to your lips. The stubble on his cheek held flecks of blood, but his lips were that blushing pink colour, tinged slightly white around the edges, as the colour of Hydra's backbreaking regime had to creep into every part of a person. You kept yourself from smiling, knowing how well your mouth would fit over his, but you held off for a moment. A hand held his jaw while another went through his hair, holding him to you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice feather light and breath mingling with his.

Drastically and in a blink of an eye, your wicked smile and crazed eyes disintegrated as you watched him. Your look was now soft, honest, unguarded to the so-called loving, concerned feelings below. It was a mask you were born to play, and you were going to bat him around like a weak little mouse caught in the deadly claws of a hungry cat.

“Bucky, darling,” you cooed, looking into his dazed but watching eyes. He couldn't stop looking at you, seeing none of the burning chaos below your sweet and sad expression. “Come back to me, my love.”

You brushed your nose slowly down his cheek before starting to press soft kisses there, then ever so gently on his brow, moving down to the corner of his mouth.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, sounding needy and desperate. You let a slight shaking move from your spine to you hands as you held him, adding just a delicate quiver to your lips. “Don’t let them hurt me anymore, don’t let them take me away from you again. I can't bear this anymore, _please_.”

You pulled back every so slightly, mouth open and heat between your bodies flooding into your lungs and his. Your expression turned to one of crumbling fear as your lips pouted and eyes starting to brim with shining tears. As your gaze locked to his, hands stroking his skin and body pressed to him, you felt a flinch run through him and saw a stirring in his eyes.

Perfect.

_No!…_

“My love,” you whispered, lips hovering above his, holding your breath for a small moment. You let your eyes gently close, leaning in slowly and kissing him once, slow and chaste. You let him feel the briefest of touches from your kiss, of warmth and tenderness and love. So unlike Hydra and the horror of these last months. “You are worthy.”

This time he jerked but you didn’t stop. Building on the momentum and willing it to be enough, you kept the facade of the old you up and used it to break through the cold exterior of the Soldier to the man underneath.

You placed another deeper and longer kiss on his lips, letting the plump cool skin there warm gently from your own. Pulling back a little you kept your eyes on him. 

“You are so loved, my darling.”

And you felt him move under you. Just a hand on your thigh, moving light and gentle before fingertips pushed in every so slightly more. 

Another kiss, this time wet and deep, as you brought your arms around his head locking him into you, wanting as much physical contact with him as possible. You weren't going to let him escape this or let the Soldier win out. Even as a brainless toy soldier he was delicious though.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, looking deeply into him, urging him to come out. The man that was locked into your tight loving embrace blinked slow. You watched as he tried to will the haze and control over his mind away. His grip around you became stronger, his body leaning in to your touch now.

“You are not what they made you, my love." Your eyes shone with longing and hope and fear. "You can break through this. Come back to me, darling.”

With his shudder under you and a flash of pain across his face and clarity in those eyes, your heart pounded in your chest. You pulled back just slightly to get a fuller view of him, watching for the telltale signs of Bucky.

Immediately his grip on you dropped, clutching his shoulder where you shot him, blood still pooling out of it and that deep ocean blue of his eyes now showing shocked anguish. You all but leapt off of him, struggling to swallow down the thrill of breaking the Soldier. Carefully you watched for some concrete sign he was not the Soldier, not playing a game.

But his eyes said it all. Bloodshot and lively and unfocused. And they were Bucky’s. 

That was all the confirmation you needed.

Running to grab the gun on the floor, you next bolted to the door and grabbed the outdated intercom, pulling the receiver up, voice sounding pained and frantic.

“It’s Bucky!” you screamed, sounding desperate and frantic. “The Winter Soldier he- he’s just gone! Bucky’s killed four men and he’s after me! Please! I need help! _Someone_! Oh, _god_!”

“…Siren? What the f-” was a static response from some communications goon across this dirty, horrific complex.

But you made a choked noise before hanging up the receiver. A smile broke out on your face a moment and you raised your eyes up above you, waiting.

Right on cue red flashing lights lit up the four corners of the room, alarms wailing deafeningly through the speakers of the whole complex. Words rung out with the alarms, calling everyone to your exact location.

Calmly, while illuminated in the deep crimson of the warning lights, you turned back to Bucky.

He was crumpled slightly, hunched over in his with a hand still on his shoulder looking tormented and struggling under his new ability to control himself again. Sweat had broken out across his skin, wetting his hair and adding a ghostly sheen to the assassin.

You looked at him with a predatory gaze in your eyes and smile on your lips.

“You need to get out of here. They’ll be after you now, Soldier Boy," you said lowly, the deadly edge to your voice unmistakable even above the wails. "Though, I think I’ll stick around just a little longer.”

As you teased him he got to his feet, bloodshot eyes still dazed and practically popping out of his head. He had his bearings enough to understand your words and combined with his training and screaming need to escape Hydra, he moved his wrecked body towards you. The overhwleming and burning shock to his system by the sudden awakening and physical torment of the last months was catching up with his fully conscious body. You knew the feeling. It would hit him like raging bullets and feel like his bones were exploding, muscles screaming, and skin stretched so tight over his skin it was like being suffocated by it.

His dragging feet brought him as though drunk with pain the large metal door, almost brushing passed you as his hand and shoulder fell against it. He blinked as ragged breathes assaulted him and seemed to provide little air. The hand on the metal slide closer to you, reaching out to try and touch you. 

“See you soon, honey,” you said low and sweetly, leaning in for a moment but still just out of reach.

With an easy stroll you walked away from him and back over to the chair. Casually taking a seat you leaned back like you had been mere minutes ago. A trained easiness lined your body and the curve of your smile. You put your arm across the back of the chair and crossed you legs, taunting eyes on Bucky before you. 

Shouts and voices were heard down the hall, echoing through the alarms like thunder.

"You're running out of time, sweetheart," you said, mocking sincerity overtaken by your smug ruthlessness.

He knew what his choice was and you watched as his muscles constricted. Maybe it was with physical pain, but you thought it was rather an emotional one instead. Because he either could leave now and maybe get out, or hesitate and be dragged back into this hell. Since you weren't going anywhere- and you _would_ be able to overtake him in his state- it was either go alone or stay behind with you.

_Bucky!… Bucky, don’t leave me, please!… Don’t go! Oh god, don’t leave me here!…_

You waved with a wiggle of your fingers, relishing in the way his face crumpled as, completely out of options, he pushed open the groaning metal door and left you behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well darlings, we're going places with this new development and I hope you're sticking along for the ride! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and the intro to evil!Reader!


	21. The Game

Your smile grew as the struggle grew more.

The police officer had you in a headlock, your face at his hip. You had been trying to draw this out as long as you could, but figured the timing would be about right.

Your fist swung hard, connecting with a crack to his ribcage, pitching him forward. As the air exited his lungs in a hard gasp, you twisted and swung your elbow up and clocked him square in the face. The force of that alone knocked him clean out.

So the man fell, joining his dead counterparts. His body hit the beige stone steps you were standing on, rolling down a couple limply. You straightened up and stretched your arms to the sky like had just woken up from a dozy little nap. With a contented smile you walked down slowly to the unconscious man. His eyes were closed and the thick spread of blood across his shattered nose caught the sunbeams from overhead. Pressing your foot against his neck and pushing down you didn’t stop until you heard another deep crack and felt the life leave his body.

You stopped, hands going up to your chest, tears almost forming in your eyes. It was so contenting, so beautifully peaceful to end someone life, like a kind of velvety high. With him being the last, you took a moment to enjoy the rush of death, humming to yourself a little tune.

The day was beautiful and clear, and it was only going to get even better from here.

The Avengers were certainly on their way now.

You had found yourself in front of a very old and near forgotten little museum in Paris. Made of beige stone it stood like a crumbling monument of a bygone era. Twenty or so steps wrapped all around it, with five tiny little side street spreading out from it as though it was the centre of this small neighbourhood. Beautifully architectured apartments lay right up against the cobblestoned sidewalk, their black shutters shut tightly. At one time this little building had been a church probably, but there was no healing or mercy found here today.

You took stock of your work in the sunshine, counting thirty-four bodies surrounding you. Some were face down or crumpled in awkward positions. All unmoving.

In the distance sirens rang out, but once those who had the bad luck to be the first on the scene had signaled back to their superiors that it was _you_ , everyone had been undoubtedly ordered to stay away. A barrier was set up, civilians evacuated from the area, and a call to you old teammates was made.

Leisurely you walked down a couple steps and sat down, crossing your legs and leaning back against one of your victims.

The little square was completely silent besides the tune you hummed, with nothing but a light breeze whistling softly through, the screaming and sounds of the fight since over.

You looked up with your eyes closed to the sun with a deep slow breath, feeling it’s warmth while the splatter of blood on your face began to dry.

Late, but fashionably so you thought, your old team members finally showed.

In the square a sudden booming clang rang out as Iron Man flew down from the sky, hitting the cobblestone streets, shining and red. Usually you liked that in the form of blood, covering people. It made your eyes shine subtly and throat constrict, bloodlust ever present and rippling just under your skin.

“Y/N, stand down,” Tony said, mask still on and hands up defensively.

You couldn’t tell what he was feeling, couldn’t guess at what he was thinking, seeing you there amid a pile of bodies and blood scattered around. It was like you were sitting back, watching a movie on the couch back at the Tower. You wondered abstractly how the vision of you in the middle of this scene made him feel. It had been a long time since you had seen the majority of the Team, though they had since seen your work.

You raised your arm, gesturing around.

“I don’t think there is anyone else to stand up to, Tony,” you remarked with a shrug. “I’d be willing to try though.”

Thor then touched down right beside the Iron Man, Mjolnir swinging in his hand before looping it back to his belt. Usually in a fight the god held it securely in his hand, itching ot throw it out and take down his enemies. Looks like you were different. Even his face indicated as much, the thrill of a fight not shining in his eyes, just a strained expression instead.

Right on cue, the others began to creep out of the five streets that surrounded this little building, slowly coming at you in full numbers. Guns and weapons and eyes were trained on you, footsteps cautious and measured. You could feel their eyes on your skin, trying by sheer will to hold you there.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you felt the stare of one person in particular. The wind carried his scent, your ears picking up on the rhythm of his near silent steps. Slowly you turned your head to the right, knowing who you would find.

Your gaze was icy and hard as you locked eyes with Bucky, your once kidnapper, handler, torturer, and lover.

He was poised like this was any other mission, suited up like he was going to war, planting one foot in front of the other on a steady path to you, the enemy. His assault rifle was pointed at you, blocking some of him from view, but you saw enough there. 

His skin was pale and taut, dead and distant eyes were sunken behind big dark bags. His jaw was held so tight you thought it would snap. Guilt edged absolutely everything on him, stiff posture giving off waves of regret like he held his whole body in a desperate weariness. A pained frown looked permanently etched into his face. The man was probably not sleeping, not able to let you go, not able to forgive himself of doing this to you. 

But still, he was here and had come for you.

You sneered at the man, shifting your bright eyes in a second from bloodlust to one of painful disgust the moment your eyes locked to his blue ones. The last time you had seen him, he was walking out on you. Leaving you behind to the tortures of Hydra. To be let loose on a little corner of the world like you had done to this one. 

Did he feel the crushing weight of his turning you into this Siren again? The blood on his hands for the people you now killed? The pain and torture he directly inflicted on you, putting you through trials and even crushing the fucking hand off your very arm?

You thought yes, though realistically you couldn’t care less what he felt or that he didn’t save you. To be fair, you purposely didn’t give him a choice knowing it would hurt all the more. Your only interest was rubbing it and trying to make him crumble underneath it all.

It had been four months since Bucky left you there with Hydra, and a year since The Soldier had beaten and turned you. The last months had clearly been rough on him. On them all by the afflicted looks on their faces. It hadn't exactly been easy for you either. Once Bucky was gone your torture had near doubled under the angry command from Gerault, leaving you all but broken into nothing and barely able to keep your heart beating or breath air in and out of your lungs. There wasn't much of anything of you left to function after those first few weeks.

Then came the missions. 

They were brutal and demanded more from you than you had ever given, but you had done them. Chaos, destruction, and death followed in you wake.

And still the Avengers had been steps behind you at every turn these last months. It was just like they had been those years ago before they found you, after you escaped Hydra and were doing the vigilante thing on your own.

This time instead of saving people from the bad guys, _you_ were the bad guy, going from city to city and igniting chaos, murdering in droves, committing appalling acts. All before ghosting away before the Avengers could catch up.

“Didn’t think you would catch me so soon,” you said, eyes shifting back to Tony.

“Y/N,” said Thor, eyes imploring and voice sounding hurt. “Please come _home_.”

Again, you gestured to the gruesome scene at your feet. The blood still warm and oozing, it dripped down the steps and pooled in the groves between the cobblestones.

“This is as home as any to me," you reasoned. "Why would I want to go anywhere else?”

“We can’t let you go, Y/N,” now came Steve, coming up on your left, clad in dark blue and body held stiffly at the sight of you again. A gruff beard was on his face and an ache in his eyes. “We can’t let you go back to them.”

“If I had been able to live a normal life,” you mused, ignoring them as they circled closer. “I think I would have enjoyed graveyards. The peace, the quiet, the faded memories permeating the air… Now I just make my own wherever I go. My own little slice of home, as it were. So I don't know boys, but I think I'm comfortable right here.”

“This has to stop,” Tony said obviously done, stepping towards you with the ringing clank of his metal boots on stone. “This ends _now_ , Y/N.”

Casually you looked around you, keeping your expression disinterested but body stone still. Behind your eyes, you were cold and cunning. This all had to go to plan or else. It was a fucking _longshot_ but you always came out on top. This would be no different.

“Try to take me and you won't like the outcome,” The thinly veiled threat did not go unnoticed from your once friends. A bit of a sneer edged into your tone as your voice dropped just slightly. “Remember, I know you. All of you.”

“Try to resist and you’ll wish you were back at Hydra,” Tony spat back. “And remember, _we know you_ too.”

You stood slowly, smooth movements exentuating your posed muscles but hands not yet reaching for your weapons strapped to you. Your fists were clenched up tight and skin stretched taunt across your knuckles, ready to start throwing punches. You looked down to the ground for a moment, using your peripheral vision to track those moving in. Your breathing increased as they swarmed you, with nothing much you could do about it.

Which was exactly how you wanted this to look.

Trapped. Out of options. Outnumbered.

Perfect.

“This isn't a fight you'll win,” Natasha said, from somewhere behind you on your left, stepping out of the shadows of the building into the warm daylight. “See reason here, Y/N.”

Your eyes shot up, blazing and intense, appearing ready to start your second massacre of the day. The pleasantly warm sun beat down and the light breeze whispered passed you, but it looked as though nothing would shake away your angry resolve.

You jerked your head back to the right as Vision practically floated up behind you with hands up in passive demonstration. Another presence was now close on your left, and your head snapped to the other side, seeing Wanda.

“Please come peacefully, Y/N,” Vision said, voice low and calm as his yellow cape danced gracefully in the air. “No harm will come to you.”

“We don’t want to make this harder than it already is,” Wanda added.

Breath billowing out of you like a bull seeing red, you shut your eyes tightly for a moment, hands hovering over the guns strapped to your hip.

“ _Don’t_ ”, Tony said as the electrical powering-up sound of his blasters started buzzing. "Don't even think about it."

You were about to speak, but a whizzing then screeching sound pierced your ears as in a flash two metal blocks flew up from behind Tony, zooming forward toward you. The metal flew right to you and clamped down on your metal hand and flesh one. At the force of the metal coming at you and attaching to your skin, your launched back into the air. The telltale red metal of Tony's machines forced your hands together tightly, before moving and expanding to overtake your whole forearm before you even hit the ground.

Vision glided forward and caught you in a moment before you smacked against the stone steps.

“My own mini Veronica?” you mused, not sure whether you should be angry or impressed as you were held up. “Guess I’m just as dangerous as the Hulk now, huh?”

“The Hulk has Banner underneath,” Tony said stepping up to you, mask sliding off his face. It was hardened with boiling anger. “Don’t flatter yourself in thinking you are _anything_ like him. You have no conscious at all. You have nothing. ”

“Oh don’t I?” you said cryptically, as Clint and Steve stepped forward and grabbed your arms, pulling you up out of the hold of Vision. "Now, now, you aren't _mad_ at me, are you Tony?"

You were hoisted to your feet, blazing eyes on Tony. He was silent, intensity compounded in his eyes. The rich, endless brown of them shone with the depths of his emotions. He had seen too much in the last months. Too much of who you were now. Maybe had even read everything in your file, and now saw first hand what a rampage of your own doing really looked like. Who you _really_ were.

"What, didn't like the finger painting I did Germany?" you taunted. "You know how drab elementary schools can get. Thought they needed a splash of red."

Your feet hit the cobblestone street from the steps with a jolt, Clint's grip like a vice around your arm. 

"And you know the hospital in South Africe was looking for a remodel," You were dragged passed Tony and Thor, hearing murmurs from Nat into her earpiece that you were restrained and heading towards the makeshift base of operations for the Special Forces a block away. "Not my fault that teeny tiny bomb went off before I could warn the people inside."

You craned your neck behind you until you were pulled from view. Your eyes fell on Steve beside you, holding tight and focused ahead, feeling the radiating swell of emotions from him. Tony was too easy to get a rise out of, and you couldn't wait to torment the others soon enough.

_God, this was going to be so fun._

* * *

 

A half hour later the large arterial street which had been quartered off was buzzing with not just the Avengers, but crawling with police and Special Forces. Flashing lights came in steady bursts from the emergency vehicles, with big black military vehicles standing stalwart and blocking any side street escape. The place was flooded with radioed voices coming through the comm devices strapped to the various people's vests on in earpieces. Leery eyes watched you from safe distances (as though that was really a thing), hanging close to yellow caution tape that further bound you in.

You were still chained up of course, watching it all in silence, enveloping cuffs on your hands and some kind of equally high-tech chains on your ankles. The roars of the quinjet engines came with a burst of hot air, touseling your hair as it touched down in front of you on the four-lane street. With all the commotion, you couldn't help be a little flattered with it all. It was like they were trying to bring in Thor- a veritable god- and not little old you.

But that thought, like all others, you kept to yourself, remaining quiet and showing only what you needed to keep up the rouse.

Still holding fast beside you, you let out a tight smile to Clint before you partially turned your face, letting it immediately fall into an angry, perturbed expression. Like through all this you were trying to keep that rage which bubbled in you under wraps. Like you were upset, and trying not to show it. Just another crochety villain, caught by the good guys.

That was how you outwardly portrayed yourself anyway. Inwardly you were dancing, with this whole thing running as smooth as silk. This wasn’t the hard part- not even close- but it was still so exhilarating to be manipulating them like this. The ones who thought they knew you- the superior Siren version of you- and thought they could take you in. You only let them believe exactly what you wanted.

As the quinjet ramp opened, the edge touching against the black asphalt. Behind you, Natasha, Tony, and Steve were talking with some the officials on the scene. As the jet landed Natasha broke away from the group, Sam and Thor stepping in line with her as she entered the through the ramp into the darkened interior.

Even through the aftermath and seemingly secure in the knowlegde you weren't going anywhere, all Avengers kept an eye on you. But as you stood in wait, Bucky kept two, hanging back several feet with eyes boring into the back of your head, able to see you but not directly interact with you, or you with him. And hat just wouldn’t do.

Natasha walked out from the jet to the edge of the ramp, beckoning Bucky with a nod inside. You assumed there was some cage or special restraint or way to lock you up in there, and Bucky being the resident expert on you would be the best one to check. Having been you captor himself he would be better qualified, even if it wouldn't be enough. You could cause a lot of damage on a jet high up in the sky with a group of your old friends…

With those uncannily light footsteps of the heavily muscled man, you heard him pass up beside you, then felt a lightest of movement in the air as he walked by. He didn't so much as acknowldge your presence or even look your way, his frame dissolving in the dark quinjet.

Minutes passed before Bucky emerged, still avoiding your gaze complete and nodding to Steve somewhere behind you.

As Steve and Clint lead you up with Vision a step behind you, you stopped them still as you dug you heels in for a moment. It jerked the two men holding you to a stop, right beisde Bucky. 

“Hello again,” you breathed low to Bucky, voice whisper thin. "I've... I've missed you, Bucky."

Your face was molded into one that was open and honest, tinged with a sadness at seeing him again. The two men holding you seemed to try and hide a bit of surprise, maybe almost seeming a little encouraged at your words to him? Suspicon was there certainly, but doubt wheedled its way in as they watched and heard you.

But Bucky wasn’t fooled. His shoulders dropped a bit as his face worked to move from one of hiding a thrashing pain to something numbly neutral. He just about succeeded, but not quite.

He knew you better than anyone else here or on the planet, and his blue eyes danced with understanding. Bucky knew that this was all a game and everyone was playing right into your hand.

So you stepped on the quinjet with your bodyguards and left him to follow. 

And so, you moved towards phase two of your plan.

* * *

 

This compound was a lot different than the Tower had been, at least the brief bits you could see from your cell. All in all, you admired how quickly Tony got this up and running. Clearly a fire had sparked in his veins to get this done in the year since you had been captured, along with his biting anger that didn’t seem to be letting up.

It was a smart move, as with your intimate knowledge of the Tower this expansive compound in the middle of forests and fields of upper state New York didn’t give you as much of an advantage.

It made no difference to your plan really. And your end goal and current situation were still the same.

Because you were free. 

Well, more so than you had been before, despite the bars you found yourself behind now.

Your handler- the Winter Soldier- was gone, thanks to you. That looming presence, following and judging and reigning you in, keeping you in line with a metal fist and unwavering allegiance to Hydra. Gone. His alter-ego, Bucky, was still here but it obviously was not the same.

With him out of the way, you were that much closer to ending Gerault, your ultimate torturer and a key feature in your nightmares. That would come soon enough. Then with Gerault gone, you would be truly free to finally let loose, to kill and destroy and be a free agent, causing and living in chaos. Any next heads of Hydra that tried to reign you in would be met with a fiercer fight than they had ever witnessed if they so much as hinted at wanting you back in the fold. You wouldn't bow down to them or anyone else again.

No more being reigned in by Hydra. No more being judged or held back by the Avengers. You would answer to no one and chase the high of blood and tears and screams.

And, deliciously enough, the Soldier- or actually Bucky- went crawling back to the Avengers once you freed him (naturally). And your mission was now to take the Avengers down. You were still programmed to complete it, so complete it you would. 

And never had you been so close to someone before. You were itching to see what torture and pain you could extract from him. From all of them.

A task that was taken on by several evil-doers and go-getters before, much to their failure. But you weren’t nervous in the least. You knew these people. Intimately. And nothing gave you a deeper thrill than the sweet pain you could draw out of them and could almost taste now.

It would take planning, antagonization, and vision. You could do that. You _were_ doing it.

Looking out from your cell, you had carefully been studying your surroundings in silence, ignoring the subtle comments and whispers they made just down at the end of the long hallway.

You had walked down the windowless and doorless corridor, this section clearly separate and quartered off from the rest of the compound. At the end of it had been your cell. Without any resistance you walked in and stood at the far back of it quietly as they locked you up, clear glass bars now separating you from them. With some loud clicks and snaps, the metal cuffs and ankle restraints broke free and returned through the bars to their maker.

It was bright all down the hall, with the cell being just a little dimmer. Smooth unbreakable white plastic, white-coated metal, and clear glass made up this or that and could admit it was certainly more than a match for you. 

Your cell itself was basic, modern, and not wholly uncomfortable (let’s be honest, you were used to _Hydra_ who wouldn’t trust you around anything built in this past century, so grimey rooms and outdated tech had been your standard).

A big smooth oval was punched into the back wall to shape a bed, with a toilet and sink just on the other side of it for a modicum of privacy. Besides a bench built into the wall on your left, there was nothing else in the room, save a book or two on the bed.

Tony and Steve with Bucky in tow had led you down in silence when they took you in. As the cell door beeped out a final confirmation of your security, you carefully picked up one of the books, running your fingertips down the worn fabric cover. Before they walked away, you whirled around, book in hand.

“Thank you,” you said, the first thing you had said since leaving those cobbled streets half a world away.

But you were looking past the two men, to Bucky who had stopped several feet behind. It was the book you had been reading, often times while with him, back at the Tower all that time ago.

It was thoughtful and sweet, and you knew it was from him.

Both Tony and Steve turned to Bucky, waiting for his reply, but none came.

“Let’s go,” he murmured to the pair after a few moments, not looking at you at all.

* * *

 

The Team was hanging out down at the far end of the hallway to your cell, milling around and generally feeling uneasy. After months of being a step behind you, they were suddenly able to catch up and took you in without so much as a fight. 

That didn’t sit well.

You were notorious for not giving up on a fight, usually fighting being your first choice, as both a weapon of Hydra and a member of the Avengers.

But here you were, seemingly calm as anything, not a drop of blood spilled since Tony touched down in front of you. Now you were straining all your sense trying to pick up on what they were saying. You caught some of it, pretending to be oblivious.

“Is this giving anyone else Loki vibes?” Natasha said, voice low and eyes darting back to you, sitting on your bed, nonchalantly reading.

Somehow an uneasy feeling settled in the air around those gathered, putting them on edge.

“What do you mean?” Bucky questioned lowly, keeping his eyes decidedly off of you.

Natasha looked back to you, voice hushed and arms crossed.

“Back on our first mission as a team,” she started with a sigh. “We locked Thor’s brother Loki up, which was exactly what he wanted. Now, Y/N had eluded us for months, but today she was just waiting on the steps for us?”

“What did Loki want?” he questioned.

“Well with Loki it… he almost made us tear each other apart.”

The group almost held their breath, that eerie feeling coating their skin.

“Buck?” Steve asked, trying to get him to weigh in on it.

“Maybe she does want to be here,” Bucky said, risking a look down to your cell. But the light glinted on your metal hand as you turned a page, and immediately he was looking back to the Team. 

"She had no trackers on her, no why Hydra could trace her here," Sam reasoned quietly to the circle. "It's only her. Locked up with all Tony's tech, could she really do much?"

"The short answer is yes," Natasha said but didn't elaborate.

Everyone waited a beat or two, some eyes shifting from you to Bucky.

“Alright,” Bucky said, forcing his lungs to take in the air the sight of you had forced out. “It’s reasonable to think she does want to be here, or at least has a plan in place just in case she was caught. But she wouldn’t try to get us to tear each other apart. She would want to tear us apart herself.”

“C’mon, Y/N is still in there, we all have to believe that,” Clint remarked, looking around the circle to your once friends. “There was still something there- some hope- back in Paris. Some semblance of her, you know?”

“When she talked it was almost... I don't know... longingly,” Steve said. He wanted desperately to believe it to be true. To make up for how terribly he had failed you. At the end of the day, he believed all this was on him alone. “So maybe there's hope. We just don’t know enough yet.”

“That wasn’t her,” Bucky said suddenly a bit too loudly, voice unable to mask how sad and strained he was. As he spoke quieter the words came out desperate, with more emotions than he had expressed to them in the four months since his return. “That was what she wants us to think. The Hydra in her has a grip too strong. _Don’t_ fall for it.”

It was like someone had been pulling his teeth, his face crumpling in pain with every syllable out of his mouth. He had stayed alive, had kept going for months but clearly today was too much.

“We’re not going to take any chances,” Nat said softly. “But we’re not giving up on her either.”

With that Tony buzzed down, signaling everything checked out in the remote surveillance room. They were free to leave you to your own devices, locked securely in your cell. In the meantime of understanding your motives, all felt uneasy if not safe in the knowledge that at least you couldn’t escape.

All except Bucky. 

* * *

 

With the first full day came the big guns. Clearly they were preparing for you before your arrival. 

But they couldn’t predict you, and this was their first failure.

Wanda walked down the hall, Clint and Tony on either side, walking confidently. The three had a subtle mix of smells coming from them, creating an odd mix of machine grease, sweat, and clean soap wrapped into one as they blew down the hall. 

You could picture their discussion together, conspiring so as to not give anything away to you. It would be nice if they did, but you knew no one better than the Team, so little good it would do them.

The trio strode up, keeping a distance from the clear bars, though you gave no hints of moving closer.

“Looking to take a trip, dear?” you asked Wanda from your bed, keeping your voice quiet. You had to appear demure, unthreatening to a certain degree. They had to believe the ploy.

“I didn’t ever want to do this, but we have to, Y/N," she responded, sounding honest but determined. “I hope you can understand that.”

You stood, strolling to the middle of your cell, arms crossed.

“This isn’t a good idea,” you pointed out. “I think _you_ need to understand that.”

Tony’s feathers were instantly ruffled and you looked to the man rather dully as he stepped a bit closer than the others for a brief moment.

“You’re going to threaten us?” Tony asked, misunderstanding you. “When you’re locked in here? Listen honey, you aren’t calling any shots anymore.”

“Firstly, I never have called my own shots,” you stated, correcting him calmly with just the tiniest hint of exasperation. “Secondly, no, it's not a threat. I’m trying to do her a favour here. For all of you, actually. You do not want to get inside my head, Wanda. That doesn’t end well for either of us.”

The two men beside her scoffed a little, impatient. But she was smarter. She hesitated a moment, weighing the risks.

It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out where they would start. How they would try to break you down and get the “real” you back. Wanda would invade your mind, suss out whatever wheedling plan you were in the process of, and see about the best way to bring you back to your right mind, even doing it herself if able. She wasn't exactly practiced in doing this, though she was powerful enough to try.

But never had anyone a mind quite like yours. Hydra took great pride in breaking it and molding it over the centuries, and now you were both more focused and unhinged in ways. With a normal mind she would probably be able to succeed. All you knew was that this was probably going to be painful.

“Step closer,” she said, making up her mind.

She held your stare, chin lifted slightly with some confidence. It looked and smelled false to you, seeming more like fear to let down the Team and you, her once friend.

You sighed, folding your arms in tighter before looking like you were giving up with a resigned shrug of your shoulders.

“Alright, but don’t blame this one on me,” you said grimly, looking to the leader of the pack, Tony. “I have enough blood on my hands, I don’t need hers.”

Tony’s face was ualtered from it's hard stare, but in your peripheral vision you saw Clint's pull into confusion then softened ever slightly. He thought falsely that maybe he caught a glimpse of the real you. The one that cared for Wanda. For anything.

Sad. Nothing was further from the truth there.

Stepping up the bars, Wanda did likewise, standing face to face. Both with an equal look of concentration, Wanda’s hands went up to the level of your temples, fingers contorting and swirling, a vibrant red flashing accompanied by a kind of smokey, rich smell. A second later at the same moment, both of you closed your eyes tightly.

In a flash of heat and fire your mind opened up to her, unable to fight the intrusion, programmed to stop resisting though you rallied against it nonetheless.

In disjointed brutal flashes, images came to both your mind and hers, taking over every thought, every muscle, every perception of reality.

There was blood and agony. And body parts. Severed heads. Wailing screams. Mutilated bodies. There was drowning, and acid, and chemicals. Injected drugs, and mania, bracingly chaotics highs, and devastatingly heart-crushing lows. There was your body getting whipped and beaten and broken and flayed and cut open. You shrieking and crying and drowning on your own blood over and over.

Then you doing it to others, laughing and euphoric, as the only other option was to die screaming at inflicting such horror on the innocent. Your bare hands were cutting deep into people's flesh with sprays of blood and surrounded by unending screams. You were hammering down on their bodies with jagged weapons, pulling out shards of bones and skewering them with it. You were drenching them with acid and lighting their skin on fire. You were repeating everything at that had been done to you.

Your brain was scrambled, unrivaled in its torment and chaos, unable to cohesively form one thought above the flashes of your past and the word _pain_. Causing it and feeling it and _being_ it. There was only _pain_ there to you. Unending. Crippling. Beautiful pain.

But it was too much for Wanda, as a lifetime of every bloody, dripping drop of it hitting her in all at once.

She screamed bloody murder, falling back into Clint with a jolt who caught her, stunned. You fell back too, and with no one there to catch you, you collapsed in a screaming heap, gasping and writhing on the cold floor alone.

Clint dragged Wanda back away from your cell, crouching by her protectively on the floor. He checked every inch of her with his eagle eyes for signs of injury.

Shaking still you tried to breathe between clenched teeth through it all, the sudden flashes of your subconscious mind too much for your conscious one to bear. Like Pandora's box Wanda had dove in and opened it up, not realizing what was locked away underneath.

“Jacosta, vitals,” said Tony, a distant voice to your ears as you looked to him through watery eyes.

At that, you saw a little hologram pop up from his watch, numbers and squiggly lines on it. Clearly it was satisfactory because his attention turned mostly to Wanda. It was then you noticed Vision suddenly there, Wanda covered by him and Clint on either side and Tony in front of her, blocking her from your view.

You pressed your sweating forehead to the cool ground, fighting to keep your breath in your lungs as you gasped out over and over. The memories were so vivid, so clear, and happened so fast it was like your body was experiencing every torture all at once. Or at least you mind convinced you it was, leaving you reeling from it and trying to reconile the reality of your intact body.

Collecting yourself off the floor, you sat up shaking and wrapped your arms weakly around you, trying to hold yourself together as the phantom throbbing pain pulsed through your body and seeped from your head down into the chilly tile floor.

Through your tears- which were quite real in fact and one of the first real emotions you had actually portrayed in days- you noticed one lone standing figure, watching you from just beyond your cell

One Bucky Barnes. He and Vision must have been watching in secrey, running out of hiding at your screaming encounter. Vision ran instinctively to Wanda to see if she was okay, and Bucky ran instinctively to you.

He was far more under control than you were, body leaning towards you though he held himself back, with breath now slowing and fist slowly unclenching as you regained a sense of normalcy.

You turned away from him, clutching at your temple, trying to knock out the pain threatening to explode out of your skull, throbbing evermore. Shit, you were going to have a raging migraine from this.

“I tried,” you said between deep breaths. “To warn you. To stay the fuck out. Enough people have been in there. I don’t need more.”

You tried to pick yourself up, stumbling and fumbling to sit on the bench, curling up in the corner as tight as you could against the wall, your back to the group. In the background you could hear Wanda muttering.

“It’s her… she’s- she's there…She’s just in pain… she’s just in so muuch pain…”

Vision picked her up bridal style and bee-lined out of there quickly, wanting to get as much distance between you and her. Clint waste no time and followed immediately after and Tony did the same, giving a look to Bucky before he went after the trio. But Bucky himself lingered.

He watched you, and you felt his eyes burning the back of your skull again. But you kept your head against the wall, turned completely away.

“You knew that was going to end badly,” you whispered to him. “Why did you let it happen? Why are you letting them hurt me?" You paused sniffling, clutching on to yourself harder. "Didn't  _you_ hurt me enough?”

He made no answer and you didn’t expect him too. It would take longer to break him down, and now wasn't the time.

A long pause was held between you, and you could practially feel his pain permeating the air. But eventually, you heard his light assassin’s footsteps follow his team members down the hall, without a word of apology or comfort or anything at all.

As he left, you began to smile, wider and wider until you had to bite your tongue to keep from laughing.

Because break him down you would.

 

* * *

 

The next day was Natasha. That went about as well as your session with Wanda.

“Why come here?” she asked, sitting down on a little fold out chair she brought with her. Her voice didn’t carry down the white cool corridor, almost like she was in full control sound itself. You wouldn’t put it passed a person like her, the epitome of calculated control.

Natasha was leaning back, arms crossed loosely in her black suit, her usual weapons nowhere to be seen. Her face was that usual blank expression, emotionless but somehow also inviting, where on most people it would just look like resting bitch face.

“Wow,” you said, closing your book and looking up to her from your bench. You had recovered completely from your episode from Wanda, waiting out the morning for the next person to arrive and save you from the dark side, as it were. “Not even a hello, or round-about question to start us off, huh? Just right to it, I guess.”

“You stated it yourself. You know us,” she shrugged, red hair brushing her shoulders at the movement. “And I know you’re not likely to open up to me, someone who extracts information from people for a living.”

“So you try and flip the script," you concluded a little dryly. "Pretending to be straightforward and appear trustworthy because of that, then work in some wheedling question to cut to the quick of this all? Is that it?”

She put a hand up briefly with a slight smile. “Just want to talk to the person holding my friend hostage, that’s all.”

You sat back, eyes shining dimly in the low light.

“If that’s your goal, you’ll be disappointed, Natasha.”

“I’ve learned to let go of disappointments, makes my life easier," Her eyes stayed locked to you, another shrug implied in the look. "But let’s not start off with you disappointing me just yet, huh. So, why come here?”

Time to play along with her game while she played along with yours, you guessed. This would have its fun certainly. And you could use a break the monotony.

“Because you brought me here, the whole ragtag crew,” you sighed. “I was having a great time in Paris. I always love visiting museums.”

“No,” she said point-blank with a small shake of her head and slight curve of her lips, as though she found your lie subtly amusing. “You let us catch up to you. You were waiting for us. Why?”

“I don’t like a chase,” you said. “You know me. I stand and fight, or nothing. You would’ve caught up to me eventually I suppose. This way it was on my terms.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said, eyeing you just slightly harder.

“Well,” you said, tone changing suddenly, getting darker and dripping with more biting anger at every word. “Believe me when I tell you this than. I may be trapped here but at some point, someone will slip up. Someone will think that the real me has come back. They’ll show me mercy and I will exploit it and break free then break _them_. Then first thing I will do is find you and twist that red mop straight off of your spine. Don’t think I haven’t gotten a lot of fucking practice doing it.”

She didn’t move, just stared at you a moment before speaking levelly.

“Is that what you want me to believe, or is that the truth?”

“You figure it out,” you mumbled, voice back to its usual sound, turning back to your book. “Maybe I’m just trying to give a friendly warning? Who’s to say really.”

Silence hung between you both for a moment, before a creak and scrape sounded as Natasha folded up the chair. She would get as much as you were willing to give her. That would have been easier if you weren't generally psychoic and too controlled. You were practiced in this, learning a long time ago to be precisely careful in only letting your handlers and torturers and victims know exactly the lie or the truth you wanted to tell. Anything you said both could be trustworthy or not.

“Oh, give my best to Wanda,” you said pleasantly after her as she left, eyes distractedly scanning the words within your book. “Poor thing.” 

* * *

 

And so Steve came the next day, as the next in the dwindling line of people to try and get through to you.

He had his uniform on, dark and cut, just not the cowl. Vaguely you had wondered how wrecked he was at the last words you spoke to him a year ago, the bloody stump of a hand and tears on your face causing the professional soldier to stutter and fall.

Just as with Bucky, hard lines of sustained grief were set into his face, only partially hidden by a dirty blonde beard.

“Y/N,” he started with a nod. 

You turned in your bed, facing him head-on with legs crossed. You leaned back, head resting against the wall. 

“Steve,” you responded in kind, waiting for him to take the lead.

“Nat said she didn’t get anywhere from talking with you," he said. "I thought I would try.”

He stated this honestly and directly, though not with not a great amount of kindness. It wasn’t how he used to talk with you. He didn’t see you as his friend anymore, but rather the person holding your friend hostage. It exactly a correct sentiment, but wasn't wholly wrong either.

“Sure thing, friend,” you jabbed plesantly.

“I’m not really looking to talk to you,” he said. “I want to talk with the real Y/N.”

You puckered your lips a little, nodding your head slowly. You pretended to think for a moment, holding him waiting in limbo.

“Well, I suppose I really don’t know what makes you think I’ll let that happen?" you responded eventually. "I like being in control. Think at this point it’s best for everyone.”

“You’re out of options here," That hard edge in his voice grew, the light blue of his eyes getting a tinge darker. "We can make this easy on you or not.”

Oh, this Steve clearly was quite done already. You liked this darker change in personality. Suited him.

You sighed, raising your hand a touch before dropping it, as though searching for the words. You shook your head again. “Steve, just take the hint here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You looked at him with knowing eyes, adding just a little bit of pity to them.

“It isn’t going to happen, and we all know why," you said softly. "So let’s just drop it before you get hurt.”

“What do you mean, Y/N?” he said more forcefully this time, clearly not here to play games.

Well, if he wanted to meet force with force, he wasn’t going to like the outcome.

“She doesn’t _want_ to talk with you,” you clarified. “Why in hell would she? Last time she did- the last time you were with her- you fucking let her get _slaughtered_ by your best friend? The one you had made her hunt down for years with you to get back! The person you had practically forced her to be with, with your constant fucking meddling too. You were her dearest friend, the only one she’s ever _had_ even! And you were supposed to protect her, weren’t you?”

Now was when you brought down the hammer on him, getting angry and more venomous with every word. Every sentence you said twisted the knife into his soul a little deeper. Deeper than he had been twisting it himself over the past year.

“It was your _job_ to look out for her! That was the only fucking goal of the _entire_ fucking mission! The whole reason she was there in the first place. And you _promised_ her she would be safe. Now look at what you fucking did! Do you want me to tell you what they _did_ to her at Hydra? What they _made_ her do? That is all fucking on _you_! You _failed_. Failed the one person and friend who fucking  _loved_ you the _most_.”

You looked to him, breath heaving out of you at the effort of spitting those hateful words, Steve face imprinted in your mind. Steve didn’t look at you now, his own chest heaving, unable to compose the anguish in his eyes that ripped at his soul.

Because Captain America didn’t lose. He didn’t fail his friends. 

Your words would have been ringing in his mind for the last year no doubt. The burden of his failure crushed him, aging his face and disposition. Keeping him up at night, hurting every day you were out there, because to him he had caused this. He wasn’t the man he used to be exactly; he was a man beaten down and hardened at the loss of you, his teammate and closest friend.

You pictured everyone trying to comfort him. Trying to explain in different, better ways over and over that it wasn’t his fault. That he didn’t fail you. But the truth of what he felt hung out in the open between you now, plain as day. The look on his face and in his eyes said it all.

He believed your words. He felt them, daily. They had been said over in his own mind and in his nightmares in an unending stream.

“So, to sum up,” you said darkly. “Fuck off.”

* * *

 

It was some time before Steve left but not exactly on his own. 

Thor walked in after some minutes of silence between you, ignoring you as you read your book in favour of his friend, prompting him in whispers and a gentle prod to leave this place and fight this battle another day.

At the prompting, the two blonde men made their way out, leaving you without a glance.

He would have wanted to help, wanted to fight harder and be the one to get you back. To start to make up for his supposed failure.

But he couldn’t fight himself and you at once. It was a battle your words had brought up full force in him again, bringing him right back to that moment in the base as he saw you bleeding. It would have brought him back to ever dark moment since. You didn’t leave him much choice but to walk away.

Lying back down on your bed and tossing your book to the side, you smiled ever so slightly to yourself, folding your hands over your stomach and taking in the sweet air around you.

Because with three down, Bucky would be the next one to see you. 

You could feel it in your bones and you couldn't wait.


	22. The Puppeteer

It had been 374 days since he had turned you, and 122 days since you had set him free.

The days were long and dark because of you, and the nights longer and darker without you.

Everyone felt the strain, felt the tension that your absence created. It whittled people down, seeing and hearing of the destruction you had caused, of the pain you were inciting. Officers had died. Civilians by the droves. Childrens lives had been ripped from their bodies. You had slaughtered indiscriminately and to hit where it hurt the most.

But the blood wasn’t on your hands. It was on Bucky. He walked these halls drenched with it, drowning with every breath.

At the people you had killed.

At the agony in his soul at not having you near.

At the horror of you being a pawn for them again.

All because of _him_.

Because Bucky had let you down. Because _he_ had done this to you.

With your time apart there had been a physical toll which settled into his bones. His shoulders were slouched with the weight of his guilt. His head and eyes looking down to the ground in conversation, sure he would find accusation or shame in the company of others. His hands were always held in fists, trying to squeeze your blood out from between his fingers. His footsteps were lighter now than before, hearing and feeling the crunch and gargle of your wrist severed under his boot with every nauseating step.

So over the months he found himself often in his room, both a sanctuary and a prison. He forced himself out almost as a punishment, to track and keep a careful eye (along with the entire Team) on any new developments in regards to you, the Bloody Siren. 

There were no “good” days. There were days that were agonizing as there was no word, no updates, not even a hint of Hydra’s or your whereabouts to pursue. Meaning days of no possible hope at getting you back and ending this blinding torture.

And then there were days where another massacre had happened, always somehow worse than the last, caused by you. It had always ended with you ghosting away, slipping through their hands again, leaving Bucky caught in a nebulous state of guilt and anguish again. Of more blood covering and drowning him. On those terrible days hope again dashed and reality turned back into a dark and timeless life to be lived without you.

But when the work was done, he would find himself back in his room alone, the shadows of New York city dancing on his floor while shadows of you danced in his head.

Grey mornings like this were no better. And it was both a balm and torment that you were here again. The uncertainty of what you wanted though, that was now the new source of tension in him and the group.

“She wants to talk with you,” Steve started, coming to Bucky’s room at the crack of dawn to find him already awake and restless.

Strain from yesterday’s conversation with you still hung around Steve like a shroud. He had been trying to shake it, but it was like a knife to his core. And Bucky wasn’t completely sure if he could handle an interaction with you like that just yet.

Bucky didn’t stir, just got annoyed as Steve moved further into the room, leaning against the treadmill that had replaced the TV in his room, an empty space where the couch had been. The place was unkempt, almost all personal effects packed up in boxes that were shoved in his closet, most of them broken now at his outbursts of both rage and sorrow. The room was barren, only gym equipment like a treadmill, punching bag, and weights were here now, shoved against the blank grey walls. He didn’t much feel like training and risk having to speak with anyone, so here it was.

It was lonely, but it’s what he deserved.

Bucky eyes met Steve’s a moment, crossing his arms. He sat on the edge of the bed, on edge himself since Steve had quietly knocked and walked in with a weary and pain-lined expression. Bucky knew what this was going to be about before he spoke, and found himself digging his elbows deeper into his thighs as he sat slightly hunched over. 

“She hasn’t said that,” he muttered back, a half-truth at best.

When he wasn’t watching your cell security feeds on his shift, he was watching them here in his room from his laptop. Now that you were here he could barely keep his eyes off you. Every word you spoke and movement you made was categorically monitored by Bucky, both a tense mix of near-obsessive longing and that crushing ache overtaking him. Every so often your eyes would look up to the hidden cameras that you shouldn't have been able to see, and the look you gave? It was like you knew he was watching. It was like you were looking right at him, calling him down to you. And every time he almost gave in.

“No, she hasn't said it, but I don’t think she has too,” Steve added. Had he seen that same look in her eyes too? Steve didn't answer Bucky's unspoken question, but paused, rubbing his chin a moment, eyes distant before settling on the pointed truth of the words he spoke next. “She let you go, Buck. Hydra had you and _she_ released you. Within months she snapped you out of it. Why would she do that?”

That answer was an easy one. One he knew the moment his foot touched the free soil outside of that Hydra compound he had escaped from. The one he left you behind in.

“Because she can cause more pain to me here as Bucky than at Hydra as the Winter Soldier,” he said darkly, eyes snapping to meet Steve's.

Steve shook his head, not accepting that at all.

“Because she _loves_ you, Buck,” he said firmly. “Underneath it all. She still in there- somewhere- and she loves you. Hydra couldn't torture that out of her, couldn't pervert it. That's why she broke you out. That has to be what drove her here.”

"Really?" Bucky said, a dark sarcasm matching the bitter look in his eyes. "You're that naive to think _that's_ the reason she's here? You don't know the Siren at all Steve, but I do. She's just here to cause pain."

Steve merely shrugged. "Yeah, maybe she thinks she's here for another reason. For something Hydra is making her do, like the puppet they forced her to be. But I know _Y/N_ , Buck. She's stronger than them; always has been. I know she's still in there."

Bucky got up in a huff, not sure whether he was going to pace the room or just storm out of it. Thinking about you, talking about you, being so near and so far from you was too much and it tore at him. But before he made up his mind, his foot touched down on a little shard of glass from a long broken picture frame. It had been hiding just at the foot of his bed and stopped him in his tracks. The crunch underfoot had instantly made his stomach tighten, threatening to heave out its contents.

 _Like the sound her wrist made_ , he thought reflexively, stomach lurching as he thought of your hand still rotting down in that pit now.

And suddenly, as the intense urge always came on these days, he just needed to see you. His nightmares had consisted frequently of him killing you in that cage Hydra locked you both in, stomping and punching your body to bloody bits. After he beat the life from you, you would always fall through the cracks in the floor as stunned, Bucky came to and tried to reach you, to put you back together. He was never able too, you slipping through his finger and leaving nothing but blood in his empty hands.

The only bitter relief now was in waking up screaming and sweating, ripping open his laptop and being able to see your sleeping body curled up in your cell, as proof that you weren’t dead. That he hadn't killed you. Though in a way he might as well have.

His security rounds and monitoring you on his shifts with the others was a balm and a bitter irritant. He hated and loved it, both craving it and tortured by seeing someone in your skin that wasn’t you. He longed to touch that skin, warm and soft and for such a brief time only for him to caress. _God, he just needed to see you._

“Y/N won’t talk with us, but she’ll talk with you. Please Buck,” Steve said, interrupting Bucky’s silent spiral. Only at his word did Bucky remember to breathe again.

There was a pause in the room, gloom and desperation clinging to Bucky like damp. Despite wanting to abandon his feelings and every logical thought that the woman locked up in that was cell wasn't really you, he couldn't move from his spot just yet. Couldn't bear to hear that crunch under his foot. Swallowing thickly, he looked back to Steve.

Cutting a slice through his own feeling, he saw the look in his friend's eyes. A moment ago he had called him naive, but now, in the growing dawn light, Bucky saw it for what it was.

Desperation.

Bucky had seen that look a thousand times and a thousand more, from Steve's eyes, the team's, and his own. But now it was bright and burning in his friend's eyes, painted on his face, in every tense muscle. It shone and tore through him like a flame.

“Help us get her back, Buck. The real her,” he said before adding, pain ringing clear. “We just need her _back_.“

 

* * *

 

The silent walk down through to the far side of the compound led Bucky through various security checkpoints and doors secured by the Team’s A.I. 

It was a trip he could make blindfolded now, feet often leading him down here, even if he didn’t usually walk through the final door to the long corridor you were in.

The cool air that circled him as he passed through the door and entered that last stretch before your cell was laced now with the smell of you. Intoxicating. Familiar. A torture and ease on his soul.

It only got stronger as he walked down, memories of you flooding his mind. Pressing his face into your hair at night, holding your skin against his, brushing his fingertips feather-like across your skin, breathing you in...

Watching you as you sat cross-legged in the centre of your bed, you inexplicably looked both battle-hardened and delicate sitting there in your small cell. Your scars lined your body, fresh ones gouged into your skin since the last time he saw you.

From what they could tell, no one had laid so much as a scratch on you during your riots and carnage. You had easily and quickly taken down those you set out against. So those new gashes and scars must have been done by Hydra… Or by you.

But the look you had on now was not one of cowering torment or weary warrior. It was like you had taken your first breath of warm spring air after a cold, dead winter. You had an unbeilevably peaceful expression set against those scars, chest shuddering ever so slightly at the air Bucky brought in with him.

It made Bucky swallow down his boiling flurry of emotions as he walked and stood a distance back from you, knowing what this all was.

A lie.

A fucking good one, but a lie all the same. You weren’t calm or delicate. You weren’t a dormant spring unfolding at the sight of Bucky walking back into your life, like he brought a new warmth with him.

You were the Beast that was twisted and corrupted, rotting away the person you had been. You were the monster pretending to be a person. And you knew it.

And Bucky drew up his strength, refusing to give in. Outwardly you would only see a cold, distance in him. He refused to feed the Beast.

“Bucky,” you breathed, standing up in the middle of your cell, small smile almost glowing. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Shit, you knew exactly what you were doing and with a mere few words you were making this so fucking hard.

He could be mad at the monster, he could fight back if you were to fight him. But he couldn’t do that when you were like _this_.

So he didn’t say anything, just watched you carefully, posture upright and unwavering, cold eyes locked on yours.

“We’re only on day four,” you said, light as a feather and just as airy. “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon. Guess everyone really does want me back.”

Your eyes were like a fawn to him, looking young and wide, soft and innocent. It caused such an ache in him that he threatened to fall apart at a sheer glance, like a fucking schoolboy.

 _That’s the point, don’t give in. It isn’t really her,_ he thought, fighting both his emotions and physical reaction to you simultaneously. His mind was the last line of defense he had, the cognitive part of him understanding that this wasn’t exactly you.

Maybe it wasn’t your mind and maybe your soul was buried under layers of tortured insanity, but it _was_ your body. It moved like you. Sounded like you. Smelt like you. Bucky crossed his arms, trying not to smash open the cell and hold you close like he had been longing too for so fucking long.

He had been snatched by Hydra all those years ago, bleeding and dying on a mountainside and from there the anguish didn’t stop for _decades_. Until he- the real Bucky- met you in that run-down apartment in Bucharest. Until he fell in love and got to experience a little piece of heaven every night holding you. Maybe it wasn’t for long, but it was real and intense and was burned deep into his soul.

Then that anguish came back tenfold when he lost you. Now you were here and yet also not, and it was ripping him apart.

You grasped onto the bar of your cell, pushing yourself forward into it. The sound your metal hand gripping the barrier between you caused Bucky’s stomach to painfully tighten. He swallowed, blinking slow as a tingle ran through his spine, trying to shut out the reaction. It wasn’t all that successful, though outwardly it was hopefully hard to tell.

You hadn’t even been able to scream when he did that to you, aware and unable to stop. He had beaten you too much to even move. To even whimper.

“Why are you here, Buck?” you said sadly, interrupting his thoughts, the slightest tilt to your head. “Why put yourself in this position just to feel _pain_?”

He tried not to shift, tried not to let the blood drain even more from his face. God, if you were angry he could battle back with the same. But you sounding sad? Sounding miserable for him? Shit, it was so much harder that way.

You waited for an answer, a soft imploring in your eyes, and Bucky took a moment before responding.

“Because we need the real you back,” was all he said, thankfully voice steady and dead sounding.

“Oh, so you… you didn’t actually want to see me than?” You didn’t change your expression, but jaw tightened infinitesimally in your misery-tinged voice. You stepped back then, away from him, as your hands dropped to your sides.

_Does she know what’s she’s doing? Those little ticks and tiny cracks of emotion? Maybe Steve was right, that she's under where somewhere, getting through to the surface just enough for me to see it?_

But Bucky didn’t have the option to doubt or hope that was true. The others wanted it desperately- and Bucky even more so- to have you back. But the Hydra agent that stood in front of him now was reviling and disgusting, and he couldn’t risk that it was that person, not you, calling every single shot. He knew better. Knew the Siren part of you too well to give in.

So Bucky steeled his expression, admitting to you only what you already knew, which really was far too much. You held too much power over him, over everyone. And it was terrifying.

“You know who I want to see,” he said, eyes cool and posture rigid.

“Me. Or her, I guess,” you assumed before continuing, the lilt in your voice sounding a little bored. “Oh she _was_ here, deep inside somewhere. Begging and screaming and crying. Kind of pathetic, considering her supposed strength you seemed to always give her credit for.”

A chill spread through him at that.

“She was?” he questioned concerned, not missing the past tense. "And now where is she?"

“Now she’s quite locked up,” you shrugged.

With a flash of speed, you were suddenly pressed back up to the bars with a clang of you metal hand, Bucky staying still though holding his breath for an extra moment. Your eyes went wide, showing off how intensely, eerily black they were. The pupils were blown out, a black abyss taking up your normally beautiful coloured irises.

“Slow-release drugs are coursing through me," you explained. "I’m sure you’ve had Jacosta run a physical by now, so that much you know. What you _don’t_ know is that it keeps her quiet. Locked away like a little cowering infant, unable to make so much as a squeak up here,” you said, knocking a knuckle to your temple before stepping back again.

“Then if I can’t get through to the real Y/N, I’ll leave and you will fucking rot here,” he said, edged with icy anger.

“I don’t think that would be the best course of action here, Buck,” you stated, words more threatening than your tone suggested.

“Every word out of your mouth, every put on emotion has been a fucking lie,” he responded. 

“No, not exactly,” you said, your tone still warm, off-setting his own. The difference clashed and swirled between you two like a storm building. “I'll be honest with you, Bucky. And I mean it. No games, no lies. Just pure honesty, I swear... But I can only promise that with you, and you alone.”

He just scoffed, but the admission was tempting. _Never_ would he trust you, but whatever cards you were holding, the Team needed to know. They need to figure out your endgame here before the other shoe dropped and all hell broke loose. 

“And why would you do that?” he asked, brow quirking, unimpressed.

“Because the truth can hurt worse than a lie can,” you admitted.

“Not always.”

“No, but there is a lot of bloody truth between us, Bucky," you said, black eyes blinking slow as though you were savouring something for a moment. "I think I can come up with something that hurts.”

A grin pulled together then evaporated just as fast on your lips that would make anyone’s blood run cold. Bucky silently exhaled the icy air that settled in him at that look.

To be honest with himself, he couldn’t argue with your words. The painful truth of what had happened between you would be far worse than any lie could be, couldn't it?

“Fine,” he reasoned, walking backwards down the hall, arms still crossed and eyes still on you. “You tell the truth and I’ll continue to not believe it, whatever effort you put into it, alright?”

He turned then, mind trying to convince his soul that it would survive another encounter like this. But the bolstering he did nothing to ease his heart cracking open piece by piece. 

“What’s the day and time?” you called out unprompted, voice echoing loudly down the hall as he was a step away from the security panel just before the exit.

Bucky stopped without turning, that uneasy feeling settling in his stomach and increasing with every sickening beat that passed.

_Shit._

Whyever you said that would definitively _not_ be good. He was waiting for a game, and in that moment he knew it had started.

“I want to see you again tomorrow,” you called out again loudly to reach him. “With Steve. It has to be with Steve.”

Bucky turned then, eyes narrowing down the long hall to your shadowed frame as he called out. “No, that won’t be happening. Whatever you have to say, tell me now.”

“I promised I wouldn’t lie to you, Bucky," you echoed back. "So come back with Steve tomorrow and I will say only what I need to say. Nothing more. Now promise me you’ll come. Believe me… you’ll want too.”

Bucky waited, weighing the options. He couldn’t bear to have you pit him against his friend, the relationship strained enough as it was. But he believed you would hold your word. Why? Who the fuck knew at this point.

He didn’t make a sound, just walked away, leaving you with a faint shadow of that unnerving grin on your face.

 

* * *

 

When dawn rose and cut through the inky night sky, you woke and stretched, cutting through the sleep that clung to you. It was the beginning of a busy, important day, and you felt more than ready to tackle it.

It was finally time to get things _really_ underway.

You faked a yawn as the men entered through the security door and down your hall, two dark-clad figures in the white hall. An almost giddy smile had been plastered there for the past hour and a half and it was time to put on your game face.

Steve was dressed in his signature navy shirt and blue denim, and Bucky in a grey shirt and dark jeans, clinging to his muscles for dear life. Man, they were not prepped for what today was going to bring. They should have dressed for battle. You were surprised they weren't, but figured it was probably a ploy in and of itself. _"Don't let her think we're going to play her game"_ they must have thought. Too bad, because they really didn't have a choice. Not if they wanted to save precious lives.

“Good morning,” you said pleasantly, walking from your bed to the bench, plunking down.

“What did you need us both here to say,” Steve started, his counterpart remaining silent as you looked between them. Their handsome features were marred by the hard expressions they wore, but it suited them.

“What, is it a crime to miss you both?" you said, feigning innocence and putting a hand on your chest as though shocked. "Maybe I just get lonely in this cell all by myself."

“This was a mistake,” Steve whispered coldly, Bucky’s expression mirroring it as they turned around and began to depart.

Fuck, they just had no patience, did they? Took all the fun out of batting them around like playthings.

Turning away and pretending to play with a loose thread on your clothes, you choose your next words very carefully, as you would have to from here on out.

“I was just reminiscing," you started. "I’ve been reliving my past, trying to pinpoint very specific details of it. My brain might be put back together since the whole Vier Gliedmaßen missions, but they’re still a lot of years to keep track of you know.”

Both men stopped, but Bucky was the one that turned half of his body back to you, cold eyes searching yours.

“Come here you two,” you said with a chuckle and smile, gesturing them back. “Let’s chat, and help me fill in somethings, huh? No pop quiz, I promise.”

After exchanging a look, the pair walked back to you, their first smart decision. Well, all things considered, the smartest thing they could have done was put a bullet in your head and call it a day.

“Where did you first find me, Steve?” you questioned, mock confusion on your face as they stepped up to your cell bars. Their darker than usual presence was cold and demanding, with even their smell somehow coming off grittier as they approached.

You did the same and walked up the limit of your cell, leisurely walking with flesh hand brushing the bars as you strolled back and forth.

“Kyiv,” he said curtly, light blue eyes closed off and unwaveringly emotionless.

“Huh. Right. With the drugs you know, it’s hard keeping track of everything,” you admitted, shrugging. “And it is Thursday today, right?”

There was a pause as Bucky’s gaze narrowed behind a furrowed brow and his loose brown hair.

“Yes, why?” Bucky asked tersely.

“I mean, I guess I’ll be here a long time so maybe it doesn’t matter. Not to me anyway.” Your metal fingers rattled across the bars as you changed direction. “And the time? Right this minute, if you don't mind.”

Steve checked his watch before answering.

“7:58 am.”

“Hmm, not long to go,” you muttered, looking down the hall, pretending to get lost in thought.

“Not long until what, Y/N?” Steve said, interest piqued.

“Oh. Breakfast, probably. Right?" you said, looking back to them. "It’s not like I have a timetable to keep in here.”

You turned and sat back down on your bed in the corner of it, reaching for the book half-covered in your sheets. You flipped it open, looking calm and together.

“Y/N, what is happening in Kyiv?” Bucky demanded, low voice so commanding it sent a pleasant kind of shiver down your spine.

“I couldn’t know that. I’m in here,” you said innocently. “Why would I know what’s about to happen in Kyiv?”

You barely glanced back down to your book when Steve took off sprinting down the hall full speed. Bucky didn’t follow on his heels, staying behind a moment or two before turning away from you and following quickly with his friend.

Steve's hand went to his ear, voice speaking loud and urgent into his comm, as his footsteps thundered and echoed.

"The address where we found Y/N," he commanded to those listening on the other end. "We need to get there now!"

“Wait!” you called out suddenly, jumping out of bed and breach the small distance of your cell, pressing yourself back against the bars.

Steve shot out of the corridor in a flash of blue but Bucky stopped with a jolt and turned,  wafting that warm spicy smell of his back down to you. It was your guess he was bracing himself for your next words by the way he held his shoulders. 

“Come back before noon?” you said softly, your voice drifting to him. “With Nat this time.”

Bucky let out a nod, lips pulled into a sneer and jaw clenched so tight you thought it would crack into pieces.

You laughed quietly to yourself as he sprinted away, a curse falling hard from his lips and a flame of intensity in his eyes.

_God, this was fun._

 

* * *

 

They came running in this time. You sat on your bed still with your book, positively beaming before they had even reached your cell. As they stopped you bent your head down, trying to align your face to one of composure. But a smile crept through nonetheless.

Absently you played with the bedsheets, twisting and smoothing them out, needing some release for the energy buzzing in you.

“Tell us what is going on,” Nat demanded, the laid-back tone of your last meeting nowhere to be found, as the redhead’s eyes were subtly burning. Clearly they had found something in Kyiv. Hopefully a fresh pile of mutilated bodies, burning in pieces under a bombed downtown building.

_Perfect._

You raised your hands, gesturing around you. “All quiet in here, Nat. What do _you_ think is happening?”

“Where’s the next target?” Bucky demanded. His eyes searched yours as though he would be able to pull an answer from them. Unfortunately for him, you were nowhere near that easy to crack.

“I’m in here, how could I be targetting anyone?” you replied. “I've just been sitting here, thinking about old times and old missions. I've been trying to recall a specific one though, one that Nat had gone on. It was a while ago? I vaguely remember her telling me about it. One with just her and Clint.”

“Be more specific,” Bucky demanded with a growl, an anger rippling through the words.

“That’s as specific as I can be?” you said tilting your head. But Nat would be able to narrow it down to a few spots within the city, not that having a handful of locations with some unknown horror taking root there would be helpful. Not if they couldn't find the real threat fast enough. “I don’t recall much about it.”

Nat swore coldly under her breath, not pretending to put up a completely composed front. You had the upper hand, and everyone knew it. No need to try and deny it now.

As they walked quickly with Nat quiet voice muttering into her comm, the pair was halfway back down the hall when your grin emerged again.

“And give my regards to his family!” you shouted out.

Nat instantly whipped around on a dime with a ring of horror edging those wide, beautiful eyes. Bucky just looked confused, looking from Nat to you, not yet knowing about Clint’s best-kept secret. Not like you did. 

“The poor dears must be missing me," you said with a sympathetic purse of your lips. "We were friends, somewhat I suppose. Should have checked up on Clint’s dear wife and sweet babies before you caught up to me. I mean, I’m not completely heartless… Right?”

Again but this time with more urgency in every sprinting step, Nat was raced down the hall, speaking harshly into her comm. But this time Bucky was running up to you. Poor guy just couldn’t let you be. His dark frame matched his dark eyes, but through their storm swirl, you saw a sliver of something delicious buried in there.

Fear.

And pain.

“The mission or his family?” he demanded.

With the team fanning across a populated city and whipping over to (what they thought was) a hidden location for Clint's family after your rather violent kidnapping by Hydra and courtesy of the Winter Soldier, they would be stretch pretty thin. Know where you were sending them too next would be incredibly helpful. But you really weren't that generous.

“I don’t get the question,” you said cooly, quirking your shoulder.

Bucky walked right up and slammed his hands against bars, clang ringing out painfully as his metal arm reverberated against your white gilded prison.

“What have you done?” he yelled.

“Sweetie,” you said quietly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean? But come back later, maybe around tea time, say four o’clock. We’ll have a chat over a cup and just take a breather, hmm? I would suggest a nice chamomile lavender blend. It’s naturally quite calming.”

“Who with,” he said through his teeth, blue eyes blazing.

You strolled over to him, saddling right up against the cool the bars, feeling his breath and yours mingling together. The anger seeping off him was exhilarating. He was so close you could have reached up and touched him, nails running along his skin…

“Just the two of us this time,” you said sweetly.

 

* * *

 

The third and final meeting with your dear Bucky was by far your favourite, for clear reasons. 

Crossing his arms, he had drawn himself up to full height, standing intimidatingly a mere couple feet away from the bars of your little prison. You were sitting legs crossed on your bed, hardly put off by his stance. It screamed of ruthless and hardened grit, like that of only a tested assassin could exude. Particularly when faced with some whose body count exceeded his own.

His blue eyes looked uncrackable now, but you would find a fault line somewhere.

“Tell me,” he demanded, sounding much more like the Soldier than himself. 

“Yeesh, right to the point,” you said dismayed. “I thought you liked our chats? And you didn't even bring the tea.”

“Tell me now,” he repeated, just as forceful.

“Fine,” you sighed. “I will… but I want something in return this time."

The blackness of your eyes gave little away, only the smallest hint of warm excitement at the possibility of getting something you desired, but had yet to voice. Immediately you could see his mind turning, bracing for your request.

It could be anything, really. You could ask for a jet out of here, set to destinations unknown. You could demand the Avengers submit to Hydra even. Maybe request they cause some chaos themselves. But you could only push so far, only just to the very edge of the abyss you would eventually push them headlong into.

That was the trick to games like this. Make the ones you are playing with think you're operating only up to the edge of that abyss. Here you were in a cage, perhaps able to manipulate some bloody disasters with some carefully placed and careful timed explosions and the like. Even so, they would start to feel secure, start to think they're understanding the game. Maybe try and come up with ways to outsmart it, to turn it back on you instead.

Then you would shatter their perceptions of this game entirely, make them understand that the darkness that was looming and threatening their existence wasn't a merely a state, but a person. _You_ were the darkness that would crush them, in ways they couldn't yet imagine.

But for now you would dance them up to that edge, and for this particular tune, you wanted your partner to be Bucky Barnes.

"Say it."

"It's not even a big request," you said. "I really don't see why you would say no to it s-"

"Just say it, Siren."

You took a breath, then shrugged again, eyes locked to his.

"I'll tell you what you want to know, but only if you kiss me.”

There was a beat in the conversation, the lash of the unexpected request taking a moment to sting him where he stood.

“What?” he snapped, anger starting to flood his veins, now coming to the surface of his skin. You could practically smell it on him.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” you repeated. "If you kiss me, Bucky."

But he cut you off before you fully finished your sentence.

“No,” he snarled. "Not happening."

It wouldn't have been fun if he had given in so easily and you fought back a bubble of sinister gratitude that welled up in you.

You knew exactly how hard this would be for him. It was just a simple thing, yes? In terms of action, sure. But intimacy was never taught at Hydra and never tolerated, to the point where you would be beaten and abused for even the smallest flicker of something not resembling cold hate and brutality. In ways, it hurt to unlearn that. It was painful at first-even touching someone's hand- but that pain had turned to uncomfortability, which spiraled into something that set a deep ache in your soul. For some balm for the pain of the acts committed, some warm and soft and gentle touch to ease and melt the ice-cold soldier they had turned his soul into.

To ask for something so sacred, something that had inexplicably bloomed between the weaker you and Bucky was just bitingly cruel. It took the very special thing you had somehow found together and perverted it, not just to deny it but to exploit it. To conjure up every close moment the two of you shared together and replace it with a new memory of intimacy with _you_ , the Siren. To make the remembered touch of you now burn in his mind. To betray the old you and open that small vulnerable place set the deepest inside of him to this little, massive torture.

“Then everything from here on out will on _your_ head," you breathed, holding back the anticipation as much as you could. "But you’re used to that though, aren’t you? I mean, I’m only here today because of _you_. Because you were weak and hateful and did this to me. If you hadn’t started this we wouldn’t be here, now _would we_?”

There was that fault line. It broke through those blue eyes, emotions seeping through. Regret? Fear? Rage? Hard to tell with this put-on Soldier-like persona, but something was moving under there. Something was rattled and spiraling deep in those eyes.

Hesitation held his body still, looking momentarily like he was going to try and put up more of a fight. Stiff muscles and the hard-line to his jaw were on the verge of wavering, but didn't.

“You can’t sacrifice a simple kiss for potential unknown horror?” you scoffed. “And you call yourself a good guy. Sounds like you should be on the other side of a cell bars.”

Bucky took a slow breath in and a slow breath out. But, with smooth and practice movements, he began to unsheathing his knives, dropping his weapons with a clatter on the ground, hard gaze on you unbreaking and trying to bore holes through your skull.

“Smart, dropping those,” you commented as they clanged on the glossy white floor. “But I promise I won’t hurt you. Not a scratch... Unless you want me too.”

He walked right up to the bars, looking down on you. You waited, wanting him to make the first move. 

You were about to open your mouth and make another comment, but his hand went through the bars to your hip, holding it not gently but harshly to keep you still. Bucky wrapped his hand through the bars around the back of your head next, gripping your hair and holding it roughly. He paused, nose scrunching with a mix of disgust and conflict.

But you grabbed onto his tactical suit and pulled him towards you, closing the small distance and soaking in every rolling emotion and heat from his body up greedily.

The control here was fucking intoxicating, with everything going just to plan.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, before he pushed you into him, catching your lips to his.

It wasn’t a chaste, shy first kiss, but open-mouthed and tense, filled with frustration. It was wet and hard and was a struggle for power between you, at that moment and for once, Bucky was trying to dominate you, desperate in his frustration. You could feel the angry, shaking breathing in his body, a clash of his teeth and tongue against yours, his pulling you in and gripping you hard. There was no love, no desire, no joy from it. Just rage and hate and heat.

You would have demanded no less from it.

As the kiss continued his lips curled into a snarl before breaking it off, retching your head back away from his if only slightly.

“Give her _back_ to me,” he growled lowly and full of anguish, fury on his face.

“I’m here to stay darling, you better get used to it,” you said with a smile, ignoring his fingers digging hard into your skull. “We could do more of this, you know… I’d be a good girl for you if you came to me in the middle of the night. No one would need to know…”

He pushed you forcefully back, stepping back himself, shifting and hardening back into the good little Avenger he was trying to be. But that fault line had broken open wide, bitterness and loathing and sorrow and pure fury flooding him now.

“That will never happen,” he snapped, still breathless.

“C’mon,” you teased, temple against the bars and grin on your face. “If you can’t have _her_ , why not settle for _me_? I look the same. Smell the same. Sound the same. I would even _feel_ the same, pressed up against you every night, wouldn’t I? Don’t you want that, Bucky? Don’t you want me?”

“Cut the games, Y/N!” Bucky barked. “Tell me what I need to know, _now_.”

“Fine,” you said in a huff, remembering you were in fact on a clock here. There would be more time for this after the plan was carried out. “I’ll keep my promise, because always do. So this time you’ll want to go back to where we first really met.”

“Where. Exactly,” he demanded with clenched fists. “I goddamn _mean_ it, Y/N!”

“Listen, you won’t get blood from a stone sweetie, so don’t try it with me," You walked back to your bed and hopped on it. "You gave me what I asked for, now I gave you what you asked for. Deal's a deal. But you better not waste any more time.”

 

* * *

 

In the course of a few hours, you had almost emptied the entire compound of Avengers. And it was making you positively _giddy_ just thinking about it. 

Now, you had no way to confirm who exactly left, but you were sure of a couple things in all this.

One, that the Avengers would find your not so little or subtle “diversions” today. They weren’t idiots and had both advanced tech and ingenuity on their side. You made it difficult, but they were the self-proclaimed protectors of the planet for a reason.

Two, and let’s be perfectly honest here, you didn’t do anything small or low-stakes. You had set up high-powered explosives the likes of which would cause a few corners of the world some deep distress if they weren’t handled in time. And they were set to go off today. A bunch already had, but that didn't mean you hadn't set up a few delayed ones for later on in the day too.

Three, that it would become clear to them fast by the location and magnitude that it would take their higher-powered members to deal with this. It’s not as if your explosives were just hanging out or able to be defused easily. Tony would scan it, figure it out, and instruct the others on how to defuse it, but it was still a process.  

Four, that you had months to plan this out and implement, with Gerault hovering above you, monitoring and controlling and commanding, and the resources of a brutally prepared Hydra to back you up. So you weren’t going to fail. You couldn’t. Everything had and would continue to go to plan.

Five, that you were going to escape today, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

You wondered to yourself, humming along lightly to a tune stuck in your head, what chaos was happening outside of this little corner of the compound. A chuckle escaped your lips, interrupting your little melody before you began to sing to yourself quietly, then in earnest.

It was the same song Tony made you sing while making dinner all that time ago, a slow little number about lost loves being far away from each other. You got a little louder as you repeated the song, voice ringing out down the vacant, sterile corridor.

You were both surprised and not surprised at seeing Bucky practically run down it right to you a minute or two after singing it for a second time.

He, of course, wasn’t going to get any more information out of you, certainly. But damn it if he didn’t know you, and know you well.

A knife was in his hand, flipping it in anxiety and looking at you with burning eyes, sprinting towards you. You would bet by that look that you were quite right; the Avengers must in quite the tizzy. Enough for Bucky the Not-Winter-Soldier to pick up that anxious habit again.

“What are you doing?” he barked, coming to a halt in front of you, hair falling around his face, sweaty already with whatever running around he had been doing. Clearly he would be one to stay behind and safe-guard you, and for that you were grateful.

“Listen, I gave you all the information that I-”

“I don’t mean that, I mean right this second!” he yelled, out of patience.

You stopped, looking at him with an eyebrow arched, taking pause. 

“You catch on fast, love,” you said with a little genuine admiration. “Man, it couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes.”

“Get down here!” he said into his comm. At obviously hearing some pushback from whoever of the (undoubtedly busy) team was left, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“Looks like everybody is off playing their own games, huh dear,” you remarked. "Who knew today would play out like this? Guess you can't predict everything in life, huh."

"But I can predict you," he all but snarled, infuriated by your melody. You didn't correct him on your apparent predictability, because he had no idea what was coming next. “You only sing when you are calling out an enemy to fight." 

You wondered if it was the song choice, bringing back memories to him of your once sweet voice. The one that hummed to him and said “I love you”, overflowing with true feelings.

You looked at him straight on, bloodlust in your eyes melting away all pretense of the casualness you had put up over the past days.

“You’re good, darling. And I've apparently called you here, so why don’t we play a game to pass the time?” you teased, smile growing wide and flashing your teeth, eyes blacker than ever. “Let me out and let’s have some fun, for old times sake. What do you say?”

He took a step forward forcefully. Heated and growling he spoke: “You are _never_ getting out.”

“You think so, do you?”

You glanced momentarily down the hall, seeing a body or two enter, perhaps of the only Avengers left in the building.

Good. The more the merrier.

You walked up the bars, putting both hands high up on them, looking through the gaps at Bucky with a smug look on your face.

“Jacosta,” you said calmly to the A.I that all but ran this place. “Open the cell doors.”

A loud buzz rang out as the once locked cell door swung wide open.


	23. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves! We have a flashback here (italicized) from Chapter 17 "Bait" and a call back to Chapter 5 "Old Friends" (we've been playing the long game here). Hope you enjoy a bit of action. Let me know what you think!

There had been a protocol in place, long since established, aptly named the “Rogue Protocol”. It was an order implemented by the Team’s A.I. on command for protection, and today it would be the protocol that ended them. 

Let’s say someone turned to the dark side. Let’s imagine they went full evil in the darkest timeline, hell-bent on causing damage to the Avengers. It certainly was possible by say Loki’s sceptre, or perhaps Hydra’s triggering, or any number of evils that lurked and thrived in this world. But Jacosta was there just in case of this.

With a word from the Avengers, the A.I. would completely erase all access a user had. They would not be allowed near the home base or any safe houses. They would be shut off from any and all Avenger intel or information. Security access would be stripped. Comm lines scrambled and changed. Their face and name and details sent out to every government and secret security organization around the world in warning. A total and complete shut out.

Simple and efficient. 

And clearly, as you had shown, necessary.

But on the eve of one Hydra-baiting party, there had been a change to this protocol. And it had gone rather unnoticed.

* * *

_“So, you’re baiting them?”_

_You had followed him to his personal workshop, mechanical and technological machines and equipment all state of the art and well beyond your understanding to guess what they all did, laying in pieces on workbenches, countertops, and tables._

_“Well, not exactly,” Tony typed something into his tablet before tapping it on seemingly nothing in the air._

_Immediately a hologram pulled up in the centre of the room in front of you. It looked like a ball of light and squiggles, all in a luminous purple glow. They moved and flowed in the space with an intricate pattern you saw but couldn’t exactly predict. Again, this tech was too advanced for you, so you waited for him to continue._

_“This is Jacosta, who’s been parading around as F.R.I.D.A.Y. since the whole Vier Gliedmaßen thing," he started explaining, shifting back behind a table covered in wires, tools, and pieces of half-assembled tech. "There was a line in Fri’s programming that was altered. Corrupted. They got their hands on my tech somehow and got in. But’s that my mission to solve, not yours.”_

_He looked at you with a tight smile at that. You knew he had been wracked with guilt since the day The Black showed up. And then when he berated you for killing them, using his cutting remarks as some sick test. Then when the comms went down at Vier Gliedmaßen, causing you to dive in headlong after Bucky and almost die._

_So yeah, he had a little bit of a tough go lately._

_You just hoped this party wasn’t going to add to that growing list…_

_“I don’t blame you for The Black or Hydra getting in,” you said, your heart too over-run with emotions to keep a grudge in there too anymore. You moved to stand on the opposite side of the table from him, palms placed on the countertop. “Tech or no, we relied on each other and we got out alive. Now we know more about what we’re dealing with.”_

_“Yeah, a suped-up Hydra," he said with a frustrated eye roll, flippantly slapping down the tablet on the counter. "Gone are the days of rudimentary one-man subs and goofy lasers, huh.”_

_“You’ll figure it out Tony,” you reassured quietly, seeing through his muted free-falling self-esteem. He put on a good show but he wasn’t as haughty as others might think. Not always. “Though I might just take a closer look at Jacosta sometime. Just in case.”_

_“Permission granted,” he said with a small smile, typing something on the tablet before the purple neon haze behind you flashed momentarily a bit brighter._

* * *

 So, later that day you had waited, anxiety and vulnerability setting into your bones. It drilled deeper into you with every minute, not having felt this way in half a century since Bucky had ripped you away from your life into what felt like hell itself.

Because yes, despite your glossing over it in the moment, that fact was that Tony’s tech and procedures _had_ failed you. And yes, your mind had been wiped by your worst and most intimate enemy, ripping away your ability to fight and defend yourself. So it felt like you were on your knees with your hands tied behind your back, staring down the barrel of a gun.

The threat of Hydra, of torture, and worst of all becoming the Siren again had had you more than rattled. It had you absolutely sick to your stomach you were so terrified. Not even the quarter drunk bottle of whiskey you had been working on quelled that feeling yet, though you had no intention of stopping until that bottle was completely empty.

That night you were being forced out into a situation you thought you couldn’t reasonably win, if it really came down to it.

And it wasn’t because you didn’t have the support and protection of your Team. You did, certainly, and knew they would go to any lengths to protect you. But without your fighting ability at full strength (at the time you were basically as useful as a puppy in a fight) you just felt helpless, that feeling foreign and infuriating and petrifying.

Last time Hydra came to the Tower they had done so by way of siccing The Black on you. You had been caught on the wrong side of a locked door, forced to pretend you weren’t fucking dying inside as they pinned you to the ground, outnumbered thirteen to one. You could only wait for your team members to show after a purposely devised and pointless mission. With masked fear you waited, desperately needing to know your friends hadn’t fallen into a trap themselves before making your move against your captors.

In those hours you had to shut off every emotion, kneeling there on the floor as Steve and Bucky came into view, faces dropping in pale horror as the situation sunk in. You watched their anger and hidden panic as a glass wall and locked door kept you apart, listening to the threats of the leader and snake, Frenz. And worst of all you had to see the look of disgust in Bucky’s eyes as you killed every single one of the thirteen men that were there to rape and kill you. And you had to watch your revolted friends stand there numbly as you cleaned up after it, on some Hydra-instilled autopilot.

And that night, of all decisions to make, Tony and the Team had practically invited Hydra back into your home. Under the guise of a celebratory party even, light and frivolous and deeply unnerving at the looming stormcloud what was the threat of Hydra. They had proved they had the means to enter and infiltrate before, so why wouldn’t they do it now, when that you were weakened? Unable to put up much of a fight?

But with a few simple words, Tony had given you permission to check into Jacosta’s programming. To alter it. Or override it if need be. You had complete and full admin access, rivaled only by Tony.

If the situation came down to it again, and they locked you away from your friends and protection- from your now only means of survival- you had to find another way to win. Your default had always been to fight but as that was more or less not even an option, you had to give yourself the best chance at being able to flee.

So, you gave yourself permission to unlock any door.

Simple and basic, if not a little time consuming to get done. And really, it was mostly used to calm the rattling inside you and give you enough courage to face that night.

In doing so, you had completely removed any protocol restrictions or barriers blocking you, so no matter where you found yourself, you had a means of escape. It gave the ability, should you be pinned down again, to get out. It over-rided everything, permanently, unless specifically altered after the fact. 

Right down to the Rogue Protocol.

Now, Jacosta was new and learning, which was an advantage to you, the Siren. You bet your freedom that Tony wouldn’t go digging into the Rogue Protocol too deeply, trusting the system he had created without checking the alterations done at its base programming before starting it up once Hydra took you. He had done so post-Black infiltration, so there was no need to do so again. It was buried and rooted behind walls of security that not even an enemy could breach, and only one soul had access it. 

Well, two at one point. But that was enough.

There was always a _massive_ probability that the system would right itself or Tony would find it before you even got here. You knew this plan was a _fucking longshot_ from the get-go. A lot of oversight was needed for this to work.

But even if it hadn’t, you would still found another way. You would’ve waited until a team member got too close to your little prison and snapped their neck. Or you would have slit your throat and held a doctor hostage. Maybe started a fire with sparks from your metal hand somehow. Or perhaps, most satisfyingly, you would have slowly faked returning back to your original self, building trust and using that against them. Regardless, you would have found a way to cause pain, as was your main prerogative in life, and eventually figured another way to freedom.

But this was much better.

You had used this simple alteration for your own protection at one time. But now you were using it for escape.

And, by some dark miracle, _it fucking worked_.

“Jacosta,” you said calmly. “Open the cell doors.”

No else outside your cell moved or made a sound, not actually believing that the A.I. would listen to your calmly stated command. Even as the door swung open on its hinges, everything was still, not a soul immediately believing what they were seeing.

The air seemed fresher, lights brighter, and vision clearer as you placed one foot in front of the other beyond the threshold and into freedom.

“Now,” you said, hands casually on your hips and eyes as black and cold as space, with your voice not much warmer. “Let’s _play_.”

Your immediate craving was Bucky, looking to him with hunger in your gaze, but the man was motionless, having stumbled back in confusion as you opened up your little prison. Even as horror turned to rage and the zaps of intensity crackled in the air, he stood there shocked still. 

You were loose in the world again- in _his_ world- and you were going to burn it to the fucking ground. You could almost see flashes of the horrors you had committed in the past months in the blue of his eyes, of what burning fire you could reign down now that you were free again. On the world. On the Team. On him. And it would be his fault all over again.

So it wasn’t Bucky- who never had a love of fighting and certainly not against the person holding his love hostage- that got this party started, but actually Sam.

He had come in at Bucky’s call just before your escape, hanging back as you commanded their precious A.I. to betray them. But now he bolted down the hall in a full run, emotions kicked aside and military training kicking into high gear. You were an enemy and you needed to go down, and, like the friend he was, wasn’t going to make your ex-love try it first.

You sized up your competition as the ex-vet sprinted towards you, muscles tense, thoughts of his own safety or odds abandoned, dark green shirt unstained with sweat or blood. 

You would have to change that.

He knew he would have to come at you with some serious power and force, and the man did.

Always having favoured his fists, he ran right up to you trying to use his momentum to try and force you back into your cell, throwing punches with force and precision and as much weight as he could put behind them, knowing he'd have to do this fast if he was going to be able to do it at all. You blocked one hit directed at your face with your forearm, then the next flying towards your ribs in quick succession with your elbow, then the next with your arm again. All the while you watched him half-amused, easily tracking his movements. He was a military man with practiced movements and you had taken down thousands of those in your time.

A knee came up hard to your torso to try to push you back, but your fist swung down hard on his kneecap before the other one swung up at his jaw. Throwing your metal fist with some serious might, you heard an audible crack as you made contact with the quick one-two punch. It sent him up in the air, face shocked and breathless, but that look melted into a blank one as his head smacked hard against the wall then ground as consciousness left him.

Before his eyes had rolled to the back of his skull, you were running to him, foot raised to stomp down on his neck and crush the life out of him, when Bucky finally broke through his shock and made his decision to take you down.

He launched at you mid-stomp, his momentum crashing into yours, grabbing around your waist and sending you both flying to the side. Both his and your metal hands scraped along the hallway floor, shrieking and spraying sparks as you went careening into the wall with bone-crushing speed. 

The white lights above you cut out and turned to blue flashing lights lining the hall, signaling your breakout.

You ignored them easily as immediately after crashing against the wall you brought up your knees to the groin and stomach of the hulking wall of muscle pinning you, twisting your body to get loose of Bucky’s grip around your middle, and swing up so your positions flipped. You managed to end up with his hips between your thighs as he lay on briefly on his stomach face-down, your hand grasping his neck and wrist. But his free elbow cracked up and connected with your face with such force you were thrown clean off him, sent skidding back to the floor with a shower of blood exploding off your face.

You flipped back into a roll instantly to stand, ignoring your bloodied face as he came at you again.

Bucky, furious and far more unhinged with emotions than the Soldier had ever fought, did not pull his punches as he swung, forcing power behind his swinging arms and fists that were drawn to you like a magnet. It was wild and abandoned and full of pain, but you were prepared for this.

He was a tank, of that much you knew from long years together. Hulking, trained, and lethal, he knew every move and could counter every attack. The war had made him the best sniper recorded, but Hydra had made him the best in not only deadly hand-to-hand combat but in ruthlessly taking someone down. 

But you had had that training too. You had power. And speed. And ingenuity. Plus a drug-adrenalin combination that made you all but oblivious to the pain. He just had brute strength and a broken heart.

Swinging in swiftly he tried to push you back, but you weren’t willing to lose ground. Dodging one punch then blocking, you grabbed his metal fist sharply with yours and jumped straight up, twisting your leg around to kick him square in the chest.

It was his turn to go flying back, sparks flying across the ground again in the blue flashing room. You immediately dove on him determined to keep your upper hand in a fight, throwing your knees to his chest as moved to get up and punching over and over, like a viper biting its prey. You drew streams of blood as your strikes snapped his head this way then that, causing his body to thrash around under the force of your fists. 

Through the onslaught of your attack, his strength didn't falter under your wailing hits and he got hold of you. He clutched your wrists hard as suddenly he threw his head into your face before flipping you over so you were on the ground and he was looming over you, your lungs sputtering with the blood you swallowed.

He pinned you, wrists held tightly in his hands: your metal hand to his metal hand, your flesh hand to his. His hair hung down, brushing your face, and it was unable to hide his burning eyes or anger curled lip. He _hated_ this situation, _hated_ fighting you, _hated_ hurting you. But you were just getting started and couldn’t get enough.

With his body was hovering directly above you, you would take any advantage where you could get it. He expected you to keep fighting or to struggle as he held you fast underneath his body pinned to the floor, feet hooking yours in place to keep you from kicking free. But you didn’t even try.

Lifting off several inches from the floor to meet him, your hips ground into his hips, then followed the rest of your body in a smooth slow roll, pressing your abdomen, chest, shoulders, and face right against him.

You purred into the corner of his mouth, lips vibrating against the edges of his with the sound.

“I just knew you wanted to pin me down,” you teased in a whisper, a seductive smile on your lips as they pressed against his skin. “Knew you wanted to feel what it was like to have me pressed against you again.” 

At that Bucky jolted to get himself off of you, face contorted as emotions got the better of him, releasing you to try and take a step back. But before he could get his footing to move off you, with your hands briefly freed you twisted so you could snake your arm up around to the back of his neck. Putting force into it you slammed him down to the ground, his face hitting the floor with a crack.

For the first time in minutes, everything stilled as silence hung in the hall. 

Pushing the muscled, heavy, and now unconscious frame of him off you, you got to your feet, briefly looked down the man. He was sprawled out, the lines of his face just peeking through the curtain of hair and splatter of blood.

You could have killed him, and if you were any other one of Hydra’s agent, you probably would have. But you weren’t a creature whose priority was merely efficiency like the Soldier had been. You had only barely _begun_ torturing Bucky, and to kill him now would have been much too quick. Much better than he deserved.

This Bucky had been far too emotional. The Soldier wouldn’t have made such a mistake to let that get the best of him. The man in front of you was far too human.

Quite unlike you at the moment.

Now, with no bodies between you and the door, you rolled your shoulders with a smile as a jolt of euphoria snaked through you, leaving the two poor things to bleed behind you and the Beast inside to purr hungrily for more.

Under the blue flashing light, you knew that someone else must have set them off as you set off down to the end of your prison cell corridor. There was a small chance it was the A.I. but you doubted it. You could feel it in your bones, another presence lurking somewhere in this vast compound. You could smell their adrenalin and hear their blood pounding in their veins, desperate to be spilled.

You sauntered up to the security panel on the wall by the door, absently wiping the blood still flowing from your face. As your metal fist slammed into the security panel it misted off in a delicate red spray, the panel open breaking under the assault. You ripped out the wires and sparks flew, igniting the little box into small orange flickers then full angry flames. You ripped off your long-sleeved shirt, leaving you in a tank top, and shoved it in there, fabric catching and beginning to smoke. In a moment those orange flames licked at the shirt and began consuming it.

Soon enough a loud siren rang out, repeating every few seconds and the lights dropped, the blue being joined by a bright red flashing, blurring into a hazy purple just along the edges. In those lights, you looked both cold and blood-covered and it sent a thrill down your spine. Another buzz sounded nearby, lower and shorter, and immediately the door out of this hallway unlocked and spread open.

If there was someone still in the security room monitoring all this, they would have deleted your “open door policy” access by now most likely. Or at the very least Tony would have been notified of what was happening and tried to man it from wherever he was in your little goose-chase around the globe.

So arson was your option. Starting a fire would unlock all hallway door checkpoints where any Avengers (like in this corridor with Sam and Bucky) were to the safe zones: either exits or security rooms to monitor the situation. That had been the procedure in the Tower, and was clearly the same here too. Now all you had to do was follow the unlocked doors to your next destination. And you weren’t ready to leave just yet.

So with determined and easy steps, you strode through yet another threshold, free and clear.

Turning down several silently deserted corridors one after the other, there was an eeriness in the air you brought with you, nothing but red and blue flashing light as your company. As you walked presumably closer into the compound, you began to slow down.

Your steps became leisurely, pace not as determinedly set. A smile cracked through the blood smeared on your face, black eyes wide and searching the long and expansive hall you found yourself in. 

You could smell someone in the air, hear the phantom silent footfalls of another stealth agent, hidden somewhere out of view and waiting to strike. 

“Natasha…” you whispered tauntingly, the cool and creepy echo drifting hollowly down the hall as you slowly walked. “Natasha… where are you?…”

You could feel her, your senses keyed up and adrenalin absolutely flooding you. It reacted with the drugs still in your system and dialed everything inside of you beyond ten. Your eyes were wide and shimmering black, your hearing was picking up everything around you, and you could smell her telltale scent of mahogany, cinnamon, and something bitter lightly reaching your broken nose.

Quicker than most could move, a door to your left was thrown open and Natasha came running out, throwing her knee up to slam against your body, snapping up a wire at her wrist in preparation.

She would have slammed her knee against you, knocking you off balance and making you hunch down as you faltered. She would have taken her opportunity to then jump up and wrap her legs around your neck, perched on your shoulders and legs locked tightly around you. She would have tied that piano wire around your neck until you passed out.

Because unlike Bucky, she was pure stealth and speed and maneuvering. She had complete control over her body, able to fight and _win_ along side superhumans, gods, and armour-suited geniuses. She came into fights with just her skills, a small wire, and sometimes a gun or two. And time after time she would win it, because Natasha was just that fucking good. 

But you would show her what real power looked like.

Your metal hand snapped out as Nat did from the shadows, forcing through the wire she was a second from trying to wrap around your neck. Instead, your grip clutched her throat as you planted your feet, stopping her short and sending her lower half jerking forward at your immovability.

You could have crushed her windpipe and ended her right there. But she needed to feel the power you had over her, didn’t she? Reaching down you grabbed under her knee and hoisted her up, flipping her right over and slammed her onto the ground. 

Your grip didn’t let up as her eyes went wide, face red as you cut off the circulation to her head while you smiled broadly down at her. She couldn’t even sputter. She tried to reach her legs up and wrap them around you, tried to hurt you with her fists and feet and body, expertly done, even if she was fast suffocating.

But you felt none of it. Instead you punched down over and over with your free hand, seeing and feeling blood spout from her face. Her blood was hard earned and the spray that hit you felt like refreshing mist on your skin.

The feeling was short-lived though.

You didn’t hear it, the sound almost too loud for your brain to process in your heightened state, bursting through your eardrums. What felt like a concrete wall of boiling hot air hit you, sending you flying back off Nat, airborne for a second before hitting and cracking against the wall.

You recovered as fast as you could- unnaturally so for a normal person- but your head was knocked way too hard against the unyielding wall to snap back instantly. You took uneasy but quick steps forward, turning to face the source of the sudden fiery explosion from above, but was distracted briefly by someone else.

The first thing your mind saw besides the subtly flaming debris scattered around you was the beaten sight of Bucky running in down the same entrance you had used, face bruised and covered in as much blood as your own.

The next was when you turned to where the source of the explosion was, just to the left of Bucky in the expansive hall, and standing there on top of the pile of concrete rubble, broken metal pipes, and exposed sparking wires was Iron Man.

It was a weird moment you couldn't explain, you shocking yourself for an instant, feeling simultaneously furious but also somehow _relieved_ at the sight before you. It added an undercurrent of confusion to your feelings, you not realizing why _relief_ was in the mix at all at seeing him. You certainly did not want him here. A couple normal humans and one ex-Hydra agent were easily handled. But it was harder to punch through an Iron Man suit with a person who had shown nothing but resolute and bitter anger towards you. Though not impossible.

“Bucky,” came Tony’s voice through the protective suit, hands raised to you threateningly as he stood like a coward covered by his gleaming suit on top of a caved-in ceiling, unlike your exposed and bleeding skin. “Back off. Just turn around, I will handle this.”

You looked to the man, calculations on your next moved briefly halted as you watched Bucky’s face flinch. Maybe from pain. Maybe from the anger and sadness there in him now. Something was off. Some information was missing and you needed to know what it was

“Don’t leave me to _him_ ,” you said, exasperated, trying to cause division and stall while you processed what was most likely to happen next. “You know how angry he was before when you caught me; he’s more likely to _kill_ me than lock me up again!”

Looking at Iron Man you took in his cold metal exterior. You couldn’t sense his emotions or discern his body language through it, but you could taste it in the air. You knew that taste. It was a bitter and hard sensation, heavy like thick ash on your tongue.

Tony knew you would kill everyone. You almost had killed three of his team members in a matter of minutes _today_. And once securing this compound and letting Hydra have free reign of the system, you would have tortured them. And you wouldn’t stop. Ever. You'd cage them and play with them and drive them insane and hurt them more than they would be able to stand.

He knew that. He had seen enough of your past work, and recently too. Even from your distance and his masked intentions, you smelt the need for blood on him.

You knew he would try and put you down before you put his entire Team down. Maybe Bucky or Steve wouldn’t be able to ever stomach or consider that option, but Tony was not cut from the same cloth. Tony, for all his attributes, was a man desperate to hang on to what he had, and what he felt he had to protect. 

He couldn’t risk viewing you as the same old Y/N, but as the same monster that had massacred and destroyed as many corners of the world you could get your greedy hands on. That distinction, however internally and excruciatingly painful, was the only way to keep his team- his _family_ \- alive.

You waited in silence, only Bucky inching towards you with eyes unwavering, ignoring Tony completely. But your eyes were on the suited Iron Man in front of you, narrowed and waiting, because in that moment, you just knew what was coming. Because imprisoning you wouldn’t work, trying to reach you by way of Wanda, and Steve, and the others hadn’t worked, so he was out of options. It was either let you destroy everyone, or destroy you before that could happen.

And, cards on the table, lethal force was the only way to incapacitate you. Both you and Tony knew it.

Somewhere inside you at that realization, that little speck of relief turned to sad understanding, and your ferocious confidence turned to bitter rage.

“You’re going to try and take  _me_ out?!” you barked, harsh and spitting blood at the metal man down the corridor from you. “I’m your fucking _friend_ you bastard! And you think _you’re_ the one who gets to _kill_ me?!”

“No,” Bucky said, confident and firm, eyes only on you as Tony watched him then you. He should have saved his emotions for someone who cared, but he didn’t. “No one is going to kill you, Y/N. You’re safe, I promise. I’ve _got_ you.”

Something happened as he said that, stealing your breath away. It was like an electrical baton was shoved in the base of your head, connecting with your spine and sending the feel in a shockwave through your body and brain, stunning you.

_I’m safe. He’s got me._

The piece of you which had turned to understanding, shifted again back to relief.

The words blanked out your vision for a moment, blocking you from seeing Bucky relax at your sudden drop of tense muscles and the unclenching on your fists. You didn’t notice Tony turn away from you back to Bucky. You didn’t see him wordlessly raise his hand and blast Bucky in the stomach, sending him back down the hall in a flash of white. You didn’t catch any of it, numb and fuzzy to the world for a moment.

But you did see Tony flying at you, only a second from colliding with you when the fuzziness took a back seat in your mind. Your only course of action was using your hand, grabbing Tony’s as he reached for you in a blinding shine of red and gold. Using his momentum, you swung him around your body, crushing his hand in his suit with yours.

The momentum knocked you down too, rolling you across the floor, mind still moving too slow to do what you needed it too. But a flash of black passed you from behind, your eyes catching just in time that it was Bucky. He ran up protectively to meet Tony, who was launching at you again, fending off an attack that could have taken you out for good.

Again Bucky was full of reckless abandon, arms swinging with wild power as he pushed Tony back, the man no match for Bucky’s hand-to-hand combat skills and the brutal strength of his metal arm. Furious roars and the unbearably loud sound of metal crushing metal rang out as the two clashed in a fury of throws and bone-crushing hits.

You always had back-up plans and a quick mind to calculate the next best possible move, but as more chaos entered into the mix here and your mind almost lethargically water-logged, your plan began to splinter at its seams.

You didn’t think, just started moving, as the familiar face of Steve was suddenly in your sightlines running down the hallway. You pushed out all thoughts of how the _hell_ he was here and how the fuck both Cap _and_ Iron Man got back so fast, what with your bomb sites half a world away.

Steve didn’t even seem to be running for you but had those light blue eyes locked to Bucky and headed straight for him. Maybe he thought Bucky had gone Winter Soldier on Tony? Meanwhile you sat stunned for a moment, bleeding and dazed. But there was no way you were even near done, confusing haze hitting you or not. So you scrambled up to a half-crouch before diving at Steve's knees just before Steve reached his friend who was pummelling Tony badly.

The pair of you had barely landed when hands grabbed both your arms from behind and threw you off of Steve. You barrelled down the hall again, rolling uncontrollably with your body smacking the floor as you went. Blood in your eyes and head spinning, you looked out to see Iron Man suddenly coming hurdling towards you too. But Bucky, now ever your saviour apparently, sent a punch square to his chest, sending the man flying to the side before Steve and now Natasha- who you presumed threw you off of Cap- could catch him.

Tony whizzed passed you, out of control and off course because of the hit and his battered suit, hand catching and searing across your calves as he careened down one side of you. Bucky was immediately running your way, seeing you lying there with nothing between you and Tony behind you now. Steve and Nat were running after him, but they weren’t the real threat here now.

They would have restraint, be looking to protect you somewhat, still holding on to that vision of the friend they once knew. Tony did not share the same viewpoint, little did they truly realize.

With the space Tony had away from Bucky, he was able to stabilize himself mid-air before smacking back against a wall, blasters cutting in and out as the suits damage was taking its toll. A hand went up but it wasn’t his blaster that was aimed at you now. Instead, a little launcher sprung out from his wrist, and it was aimed at Bucky who was running up just beside you.

Without thinking, you jumped up in front of Bucky as Tony fired the sizzling little bullet, pushing your ex-love down with all the strength you had and stood instead in his place.

Right after that moment, the chaos died down and time stood at a stand-still.

Everything went oddly quiet as you stood there, teetering ever so slightly on your feet. The sounds around you were instantly gone. Your mind stilled. Even your heartbeat and the racing blood in your veins had seemed to disappear for a moment.

Looking down slowly, you saw your abdomen, once clothed in a smooth black fabric, was now torn and anything but smooth, with chunks of your flesh spread across it, hanging limply and bloody.

It had only been one bullet, probably aimed at Bucky’s arm to get him to stop protecting you, but it exploded like a buckshot of sorts. It had done so inside of your body, spreading out organs and muscles and red liquid everywhere in an angry, jagged mess.

You only blinked, suddenly finding yourself on your knees, held in familiar arms wrapped around you, your shoulder pressed to Bucky's chest. You didn’t have space inside you to feel shocked at so quickly being on the floor or Bucky suddenly being there to catch you, holding you securely in his embrace.

A hiss of air tried to escape your lungs as you turned your head to him, bumping your nose against his stubbled jaw. Your eyes, once wide with furious anger, melted into something quite different now.

Your spine seemed to quit on you as though it had disappeared from your body completely, your torso collapsing back without your consent and head lulling with it. Bucky caught you again and hovering just above you, gently rested you on the ground. You looked down your body, your shaking fingers poised just above your split open abdomen before connecting down to the hot and wet flesh. You watched as his hands held yours, pressing yours against your gaping wound. Blood poured like a waterfall and pooled below you in a growing puddle, unseen Hydra chemicals and drugs running out with it. 

“Y/N,” Bucky said, voice sounding higher than usual though calm but, as you looked up to him, you watched as his eyes began to brim with tears and panic and agony. The blue in this was so bright, so familiar in a way you had forgotten. “It’s okay, I have you. You’re okay. You're going to be okay. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.”

_I’m safe. He’s got me._

Another jolt, like pure electricity flooding every nerve in your body, coursed through you white-hot and brilliantly bright. It gripped every inch of you, inside and out, in a vice before peeling away, letting air back into your lungs and reality of the gunshot enter your mind.

At the overwhelming and sudden screaming pain of your torso, you could do nothing but fall into it. Your body settled, embracing the agony you now began to feel, unable to fight it. Your jaw unclenched. Your whole body relaxed into the torment, terrible and familiar, comforting and horrifying. The anger and the walls that had been put up began fading away and melted out of you like the blood oozing onto the floor.

But all you could think about were his words, illuminating the pieces of you that you thought were buried for good.

_I’m safe. He’s got me._

_He’s safe. I’ve got him._

Slowly you removed your shaking hand from your stomach, reaching up to his face. You blinked slowly, pressing bloody fingertips to his cheek as the softness of your touch reached him, the slightest bit of colour returning to your irises as you watched.

You whispered one thing to him, voice small and cracked. It fell out of your mouth as you were forcefully ripped from him by unseen hands, Bucky shouting in agonizing rage after you as he was restrained, eyes wide and body thrashing wildly to get you back.

“…Bucky?”

 


End file.
